Of Time And Tide
by Septemberrains8
Summary: Unfortunately for Minerva McGonagall, attractive eligible men are in short supply at Hogwarts. So it's rather typical that one would arrive at the worst possible time. A Minerva/OC chapterfic set during the era of the books, mainly Order Of The Phoenix, just because I've always felt a courageous, fiery, passionate woman like Minerva deserved a relationship to match.
1. Prologue

A note on canon: this fic is technically AU in that I have written Minerva McGonagall as being roughly twenty years younger than she is in canon. This is because that was the age I already pictured her being when I first read the books. Her date of birth here is 04/10/54 rather than 04/10/35 which would put her in her final year around the time that the Marauders were second years and would fit with her coming back to teach when they were sixth years. The only points in book!canon that directly contradict this are the scene in OOTP where Minerva tells Umbridge she has taught at Hogwarts for 39 years and in DH when Snape remembers Minerva being there at his and Lily's sorting. I am choosing to ignore these, but have tried to be as canon-compliant as possible aside from this. This fic is also compliant with the early part of Minerva's backstory on Pottermore up to and including when she takes the job at Hogwarts.

Ioan is a Welsh name and is pronounced "Yo-an" with the emphasis on the first syllable (i.e. rhyming with 'rowan').

Usual disclaimers apply.

* * *

**Of Time And Tide**

_Prologue: August 1993_

It was summer.

It was hot.

Even in the northerly reaches of Scotland the sun was making its presence felt. The normally lush green lawns of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry were looking distinctly wilted. Steam hissed from the vents of the greenhouses and several Thestrals had emerged from the Forbidden Forest to drink thirstily at the edge of the Black Lake.

For Deputy Headmistress Minerva McGonagall, however, the weather was not a concern. Her first floor study faced to the west and the thick stone walls remained cool even as the hottest hours of the early afternoon approached. As the days of August slipped steadily past her office had become a refuge, not just from the sticky heat but also from the frivolity it seemed to inspire amongst her colleagues. Skinny dipping in the lake, drunken Quidditch matches, raucous poker sessions in the staffroom… it was as if the absence of students sent all common sense flying out of the window.

But Minerva had no time for such irresponsible behaviour. Her only concession to the summer holidays was her attire: a smart green knee-length wrap dress instead of formal robes. Her hair remained in its tightly pinned bun, her spectacles firmly in place and her back as straight as ever as she surveyed the paperwork on her desk. Every year it seemed there was more to be done. Her Transfiguration lesson plans for the year ahead had been finalised and the O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. results had been sent out the previous week. Envelopes containing letters and booklists were stacked in a neat pile ready to go down to the Owlery for dispatch. Now she was working her way through departmental equipment requests, a task that strictly speaking belonged to the Headmaster, but which Albus had delegated to her with an apologetic smile and a promise of an extra weekend off.

When the knock at the office door came she'd assumed it was Pomona Sprout, here to tell her she'd missed lunch again and why wasn't she outside enjoying this glorious sunshine, didn't she know she was entitled to a holiday just like everyone else?

"Come in," she called, frowning over the parchment in front of her. Hagrid's untidy scrawl was difficult to decipher but from what she could make out he wanted to requisition half a dozen hippogriffs for his first lesson of the year. She winced at the thought. It wasn't that she begrudged him the job – heaven knew, he was more enthusiastic than the rest of the faculty put together. But she was beginning to wonder whether Albus had given the matter the careful consideration it deserved. She'd already had to respond to a lengthy complaint from the irate manager of Flourish and Blotts over Hagrid's unfortunate choice of textbook.

She only remembered her visitor when she heard a polite cough from the other side of her desk.

To her surprise, when she looked up it was not Pomona that stood in front of her but a stranger: a tall man with a pleasant expression and rather scruffy light brown hair in need of a trim.

"Minerva McGonagall?"

"Yes?" She couldn't keep the edge of irritation from her voice. Almost certainly he was a representative of one of the many commercial magical companies, keen to tell her about the latest homework-marking quills or persuade her to try an alternative supplier for potions ingredients. She loathed their uninvited visits and over the years had developed a careful system for avoiding them completely. It was unusual these days for such people to make it as far as her office without being intercepted – unusual, but not impossible.

"Whatever it is you're selling, Mr…"

"Chant. Ioan Chant. Department of Temporal Manipulation."

The stranger registered the look of confusion on her face and grinned.

"I did send you an owl, Minerva. Though I'm most amused that you think I would be selling anything. Perhaps I should ask for galleons in exchange for this time turner?"

He reached inside his robes and withdrew a small velvet pouch which he placed on the desk in front of her.

All at once she understood: this was Ioan Chant, senior fellow at the Institute for Magical Research, and the wizard with whom she had been corresponding for several months in her quest to obtain a time turner for Hermione Granger. There had been an owl, she recalled, something about the need to sign out the time turner from Ministry stock, but not to worry, he would take care of it, and then…

"You said it would be safer for you to bring it directly to Hogwarts," she finished weakly.

"Ah, so you do remember me. Thank goodness. I was beginning to wonder if I had dreamt the whole thing."

It was a long time since she had seen a time turner and it looked so small, dangling from the delicate golden chain. Afraid of damaging it, Minerva tucked it back into its velvet pouch. She still wasn't entirely sure if she was doing the right thing. Hermione Granger was exceptionally bright, that went without saying. But twelve O.W.L. subjects? It was a lot of pressure.

She cleared her throat. "Dr Chant. Thank you. This will mean an awful lot to Miss Granger. I give you my personal assurance that it will not be misused in any way."

She stood and held the door open for him, her favoured method of hastening visitors from her office. But Ioan Chant did not move. "I've travelled a long way today," he said instead. "I was thinking I might stop for a drink in the village before I head back to Cornwall. Would you care to accompany me?"

Inwardly Minerva was dismayed. An hour of polite small talk under the watch of the gossipy residents of Hogsmeade was most definitely not on her agenda for the day. However she couldn't deny that Dr Chant had done her a significant favour by agreeing to her request, not to mention saved her making the trip to the Ministry of Magic by delivering the time turner himself. Courtesy dictated that she ought to supply appropriate sustenance. But did it have to be the local pub?

"I'm sure we could provide you with ample refreshment here in the castle," she offered, hoping this would be adequate instead.

"Oh, I wouldn't want to trouble the house elves. And besides, on a day like this nothing beats the Three Broomsticks. Let's go!"

Reluctantly Minerva followed her guest along the corridor and down the marble staircase to the entrance hall. The castle seemed strangely quiet without the clatter and noise of the students. Minerva had never been able to get used to it. She enjoyed the peace and not having to do nighttime patrols of the corridors was a godsend but still, it felt as if Hogwarts was missing part of its soul. Secretly she was looking forward to the start of the new term. As they stepped through the castle doors and out into the bright August sun she quickened her pace. The sooner they got there, after all, the sooner she could make her excuses and get back to more important things.

* * *

The Three Broomsticks was crowded despite the heat. The doors at the back of the inn had been thrown open allowing customers to spill out into the garden beyond. Several faces turned to watch Minerva curiously as she and Ioan joined the throng of witches and wizards at the bar. She wasn't a frequent visitor to the pub, nor was she often seen in the company of unfamiliar men. Out in the garden she could see quite a few of the Hogwarts staff squashed together on the wooden benches. Aurora Sinistra, tall green cocktail in hand, noticed Minerva and raised her glass politely. Beside her Charity Burbage was spluttering magnificently, having nearly choked at the sight of the Deputy Headmistress. Minerva sighed and turned back to the bar, where Ioan had finally succeeded in getting Rosmerta's attention.

"Yes, thank you, we'll have…"

Ioan paused and glanced over at Minerva.

"A small Gillywater for me, please," she said primly.

"Two large glasses of your homemade raspberry wine, please."

"I said Gillywater!" Minerva protested, but it was too late: Rosmerta had uncorked a bottle so cold that ice crystals were forming on the sides and poured out two generous measures of crimson liquid. Ioan deposited a handful of coins on the bar and squeezed through a gaggle of wizards towards a recently-vacated table in the corner, glasses in hand.

"I said Gillywater!" His presumption annoyed her immensely. If she'd wanted wine she'd have asked for it.

But Ioan did not seem the least bit ruffled. "Oh come on," he said with a grin. "It's Friday afternoon. Push the boat out. Live a little. Besides, this stuff is fantastic. Have you tried it?"

"No," Minerva admitted grudgingly.

"Well, try it. And if you don't like it, I'll have yours. And I'll get you a gillywater. And possibly a seat further away from me so nobody knows we're together."

She opened her mouth to protest but then caught the glint of humour in his eyes.

"Oh, very amusing." She rolled her eyes and took a sip of her drink. As much as she hated to admit it, he was right: it was delicious. The crisp taste of fresh raspberries was very much in evidence and yet somehow it wasn't too sickly. A shudder ran through her as she swallowed and she realised that what it lacked in sweetness, it certainly made up for in alcohol content. She set the glass down and settled herself a little more comfortably into her chair.

"It must be lovely working at Hogwarts," Ioan said conversationally. "I still remember my own schooldays with great fondness. In fact, I don't think I can have been many years behind you."

"Really? I'm afraid I never really knew many of the younger students outside of my own House. But I'm sure I would have remembered you had you been in Gryffindor."

"I was in Ravenclaw. But now that I've seen you I think I remember watching you play Quidditch a few times."

Minerva smiled at the memory.

"Now that was a long time ago."

Ioan took a long sip of his wine. "Did you every think about playing professionally?" he asked.

"No. Don't misunderstand me, I loved Quidditch. And I did have a tentative offer from one of the league teams. But I knew it would never be a long term career, and then I was injured and that put me right off, I'm afraid."

"Do you ever regret it?"

"No," Minerva said with a wry smile. "Never. Well, maybe in my Ministry years. But as soon as I started teaching at Hogwarts I knew I'd made the right choice."

"Well I must say I'm impressed at your dedication. I don't remember any of my teachers going to the lengths you've gone to for this Granger girl."

"Hermione Granger is a very talented young witch. She deserves to achieve her full potential. And – not that this really has anything to do with it - but I must say I derive a considerable amount of satisfaction from seeing a muggle-born student score the highest exam marks of her yeargroup."

"Really?" Ioan raised an eyebrow. "That's an interesting comment. Many of your contemporaries would think a muggle-born student was most definitely not worth this level of attention."

Minerva stiffened. "And is that what you think, Dr Chant? If so," she continued in icy tones, "you will no doubt be dreadfully disappointed to learn that my own father was a muggle. It is my firmly held belief that blood status has absolutely no relevance in modern Wizarding society and I'm afraid I have very little time for anyone who thinks otherwise."

She glared at him defiantly.

"Both my parents are muggles," Ioan said softly. "It infuriates me to hear anyone speak of muggles in derogatory terms. Rest assured, I feel exactly the same way as you."

Minerva was rather taken aback by this. "I see," was all she could manage.

"So tell me," Ioan said, changing the subject with remarkable tact. "I've always wanted to meet an animagus. What are your thoughts on the editorial in last month's Transfiguration Today? Do you agree animagus ability is likely to become a lost art now that you can buy potions that give the impression of transformation for just a few galleons?"

* * *

By the time they eventually left the Three Broomsticks, Minerva and Ioan had spent several hours discussing everything from the latest developments in advanced transfiguration theory to the upcoming Quidditch season, and between them had finished off a bottle and a half of wine. This was significantly more than Minerva was used to drinking, a situation that was highlighted embarrassingly when she stumbled over the doorstep on the way out of the pub and almost hit her head on one of Rosmerta's hanging baskets.

The sweltering heat of the afternoon had given way to a balmy evening, the air thick with the scent of honeysuckle, and she felt slightly foolish in her formal dress and heels as they walked together back through the village. She couldn't remember when she'd last had such an enjoyable time. The conversation had flowed easily between them. They'd shared the same views on many subjects, yet still there were enough differences between them to allow for a lively debate. Ioan had listened with interest to her opinions, and his dry sense of humour had enlivened the discussion no end.

All too soon they had reached the tall iron gates of Hogwarts, the last possible point from which Ioan could apparate back to his home in Tinworth, close to the I.M.R.

Minerva took a deep breath. "I'm sorry if I was a little abrupt earlier. I completely forgot you were intending to deliver the timeturner personally."

"Well, I wouldn't have normally. But it _is_ an exceptionally valuable object. And I'll admit I was curious to meet you face-to-face after the letters we've exchanged and what little I knew about you already."

"I see."

"Well, I hope you'll forgive me for dragging you out with me. I know you must have had work to do but I couldn't bear to leave you sitting alone in that office on a beautiful day like this."

He leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. To her surprise, Minerva felt a shiver run through her body that had nothing to do with the alcohol. She barely managed to mumble a farewell before he turned on the spot and was gone from her sight.

As she made her way back up to the drive, Minerva felt curiously bereft. You're being ridiculous, she chastised herself. You hardly know the man. You drank far too much wine and made an exhibition of yourself, and now you need to pull yourself together and stop lusting after a complete stranger.

Still, as complete strangers went, Dr Ioan Chant was a remarkably attractive one. When dinner was over and she was finally alone again she allowed herself the brief luxury of imagining another evening with him, one that most definitely did not end with a chaste kiss at the school gates.

Perhaps she would see him again soon. She hoped so.

Sadly for Minerva, it would be another two years before her wish was granted.


	2. Chapter One

Thank you to everyone who has read so far and especially to those who have left reviews. I hope you continue to enjoy it.

I should mention my inspiration for Minerva has always been Kristin Scott Thomas, not least because she shows how women in their forties and fifties can be just as attractive and sexy – if not more so – than those in their twenties! If you want evidence of this watch 'The Woman In The Fifth'.

Sorry for the crappy formatting, I am still wrestling with FFN's document manager. Hopefully I will figure out a better way of doing it soon.

* * *

**Chapter One - August 1995**

Twilight was falling over Privet Drive. It had been stifling hot all day and even now that the sun had set the air remained thick and warm. Most of the residents had retreated indoors since the introduction of the hosepipe ban. A few children remained out in the street, listlessly kicking a football around, oblivious to the tabby cat watching them from beneath the shrubbery at number four.

The ball rebounded off the kerb and bounced not far from the rosebush where the cat skulked. It flicked its tail irritably but shrank back, taking care to remain out of sight. The spectacle markings around its face were compressed into a remarkably human-like frown and it hissed quietly to itself as the children moved on down the street.

Really, Minerva McGonagall thought to herself, this is an entirely ridiculous position for a Hogwarts professor to be in.

The hours had drifted by slowly, as they always did when she had the misfortune to be on guard duty. The revolting Dursley boy had lobbed a stone at her earlier and her right paw still stung. Her fur was thick with dust and the soil on which she lay was lumpy and uncomfortable, but worst of all was the expensive manure that Petunia Dursley insisted on using for her precious roses. With the enhanced senses afforded by her feline form the stink was almost unbearable.

And yet… Minerva could not deny that it was worth the indignity and the discomfort if it kept Harry Potter safe.

Earlier she'd followed at a discrete distance as he'd stalked unhappily around the suburban streets, pausing only to rummage in the litter bins in search of newspapers. What Potter wanted with muggle newspapers was not clear to Minerva. Surely it was the Daily Prophet that he should have been reading from cover to cover? The muggles remained as oblivious as ever, one only had to overhear the regular news bulletins that issued from the Dursleys' oversized television set to appreciate that. But then the Prophet hadn't really been particularly palatable reading of late. Particularly if your name was Harry Potter.

Poor Harry. Quite why Dumbledore insisted that the boy remain here with his awful relatives Minerva did not understand. In fact, she considered it a miracle that he was not just as spoiled and unpleasant as his cousin. Petunia and Vernon Dursley did not treat Harry well, that was readily apparent. But perhaps their indifference had done him a favour. Perhaps that explained why he had turned out the way he had, rather than resembling the overweight brute he shared a home with. But now, after all these years, didn't the boy deserve better? And what difference would one more child make at Grimmauld Place?

Brisk footsteps disturbed her reverie and she pricked up her ears in anticipation. A moment later Hestia Jones sauntered past the Dursleys' house, proudly parading a small poodle on a pink leash. Goodness only knew where she'd acquired the creature from but Minerva had to admit it was a laudable disguise. Dog walkers were plentiful in Little Whinging, though mostly their pets were as poorly disciplined as their children. On one memorable recent occasion she had been forced to crouch in a tree for over an hour whilst a large cocker spaniel snarled malevolently up at her, its equally unpleasant owner too busy passing the time of day with a neighbour to notice or care.

She slunk out from beneath the shrubbery and sat casually at the corner of the street until she caught the eye of Hestia who acknowledged her with a brief nod. Then she slipped silently away down the footpath leading towards to the park. As soon as she was clear of muggle eyes she transformed back into human form and then immediately turned on her heel, intent on apparating back to Hogsmeade as fast as she possibly could.

* * *

Hogsmeade seemed as though it was on a different planet from Little Whinging, and not just because its inhabitants wore robes rather than Reeboks. The hot weather that plagued the southern reaches of England had bypassed Scotland altogether: the sky was grey and overcast and the air surprisingly chilly. Minerva glanced around but nobody was paying any attention to her sudden arrival. Across the road The Three Broomsticks looked as busy as ever. Briefly she contemplated stopping in for a drink. But the quiet solitude of her bedroom was calling her and instead she set off briskly back towards the castle.

She made her way straight up to the sixth floor and along the little-used corridor where the entrance to her rooms lay concealed behind an elaborate tapestry of a golden lion. Conveniently situated below Gryffindor Tower and sharing its sweeping views of the castle grounds and the Quidditch pitch, Minerva's small but welcoming suite was a haven of peace and privacy for which she was eternally grateful. The bookcases in her living room held a curious mix of magical tomes and muggle paperbacks, favourites from her teenage years when she would hide away from the boisterious games of her brothers and read her way through novels surreptitiously stolen from her mother's bookshelves. A worn but comfortable crimson sofa and two armchairs were grouped around the fireplace. On the far side a small hallway led to her bedroom and the private bathroom that was her privilege as Head of House, a privilege that almost compensated for the arduous night patrols that were also expected. Her colleagues shared facilities in the staff wing but were free to spend their time as they wished when they weren't teaching, be it inside the castle or out.

She deposited her bag on a small side table and shrugged out of her lightweight muggle coat, wondering what to do with the rest of her evening. Her hair was still filthy from the hours spent under the Dursleys' rose bushes, since the dirt did not discriminate between her cat form and her human one. Her muscles ached and her skin felt sticky with sweat even here in the coolness of the castle. A bath was called for, Minerva decided. She turned the taps on as far as they would go, adding a generous measure of the rose and lemon bath oil that had been a Christmas gift from her mother. As the tub filled she peeled off the hated muggle dress and dropped it neatly into the laundry basket. No doubt it would be required again soon.

Once she was settled in the bath she picked up the book she was halfway through but found she couldn't concentrate on the words. Instead – as was so often the case recently – her mind drifted back to thoughts of Dumbledore, Harry and the Order. The Daily Prophet was growing increasingly bold in its criticisms of Dumbledore, once implied but now glaringly explicit. And now Harry too was a target of their smear campaign. Minerva had seen the boy's misery for herself and knew exactly who to hold responsible. She deplored cowardice at the best of times but cowardice from a man who had put himself forward for arguably the most responsible job in Wizarding Britain, well that was infinitely worse. But without proof what could they do?

If only there was a way of showing Cornelius Fudge what Harry had seen. Of showing everyone.

All of a sudden inspiration struck.

* * *

"I have a contact in Cornwall, at the I.M.R. I think he might be able to help us."

"A contact?"

It was the following morning. Minerva was sitting in her usual place at the high table next to the Headmaster, who was gleefully tucking into a full English cooked breakfast. Minerva, who had settled for toast and a cup of tea, shuddered to herself at the thought of digesting all that grease.

"Well," she clarified. "A friend. Dr Ioan Chant. He's the lead researcher on the new observational time turner project."

"Indeed? Well, well. That is a very intriguing area. If successful it could revolutionise magical justice."

Observational time turners were the latest big thing in magical research. Unlike conventional time turners they purported to allow their users to travel back in time in a manner that made them invisible and unable to alter the past. There would be no risk of causing catastrophic damage through inadvertent meddling, and more importantly users would be able to observe past events without bias and without being limited to the memories of a particular individual.

The idea had existed in theory for many years but only recently had the magical knowledge been developed to allow it to become a reality. All of sudden the Department of Temporal Manipulation had found itself the centre of attention, and Ioan Chant was there in the thick of it.

If she could persuade Ioan to let them use the timeturner then perhaps they could take witnesses back to the graveyard and let them see the truth about Cedric Diggory's death. Or failing that they could at least go back themselves and hope to find some sort of evidence. Ioan, a self-confessed history buff, had enthused at length about the possibilities of travelling back decades and possibly even centuries to solve some of the most hotly debated mysteries of the past. Surely travelling just a few weeks back would be easily manageable?

Dumbledore, however, did not seem particularly excited.

"Albus," she pressed on. "We could show them what really happened! All this nonsense from Fudge and the Daily Prophet. And Harry, what about him? They're trying to make out he's disturbed, the poor boy! It's dreadful! This way we could set the record straight."

"I don't doubt your motivation, my dear," Dumbledore said gently. "I just wonder whether anything will be achieved by this. My understanding is that observational time turners still exist very much in the realm of theory."

"But surely there is nothing to lose by trying?"

"By all means. Drop your friend a line and see what he thinks."

* * *

It did not take Minerva long to compose a letter to Ioan asking for more information on the time turner. Her owl returned later that same day with a reply. Initially Minerva felt a surge of disappointment: it looked like a very short letter. But to her immense surprise it was in fact an invitation.

_Minerva,_

_If you were able to visit me in Cornwall I could show you my research much better than I could explain it! Would next Thursday suit you?_

_Yours,_

_Ioan_

Thursday could not have come soon enough for Minerva, though she would have sooner tap danced naked down Diagon Alley than admitted it.

It had been almost two years since she had last seen Ioan Chant and this in itself had been something of a disappointment. It wasn't as if they hadn't tried to meet up. They had – several times, in fact. But being at opposite ends of the country made things difficult. If it wasn't Ioan being called to an urgent funding meeting at the Ministry, it was Minerva unable and unwilling to leave the castle a mere two days after Sirius Black had nearly killed one of her own Gryffindor students. They'd both attended the Quidditch World Cup separately but hadn't managed to find each other amongst the crowds that attended, nor in the chaos that ensued afterwards. And then Ioan had been offered a fellowship in the Australian equivalent of the I.M.R, an offer too good to turn down. They'd wanted him to start immediately, so she'd not even had a chance to see him before he left.

But the letters… the letters had kept them connected, if only through the written word and all it left unsaid. It had started simply with a research article, a "thought you might be interested in reading this" note from Ioan attached. He'd asked how Miss Granger was managing with the time turner. She'd replied. They'd debated gently back and forth the merits of time turners in general, the ethics of his research. He'd confessed to her his worries that he'd never get the charms he was working on right, that the funding would fall through, that it would all be for nothing. In turn she'd found herself sharing with him some of her own fears: that she was pushing Hermione Granger too hard when she should have been encouraging her to slow down, that Sirius Black would not rest until he had murdered Harry Potter and goodness knew how many others, that the Triwizard Tournament would be a dismal failure.

After nearly a year Ioan had returned to the I.M.R. filled with new enthusiasm and now heading up a major research project. But much to Minerva's dismay their correspondence continued in much the same fashion as it had been in from the start. There had never been even a hint of anything more than friendship and mutual respect.

And why should there be? Minerva chastised herself frequently on this matter. They had spent an afternoon together as colleagues, nothing more. She hardly knew him, if it came to that. No, she told herself sternly. You are being ridiculous. You are reading things into this that never existed. You're making him into someone he's not, and if you do ever manage to see him again you will undoubtedly be sorely disappointed.

But despite all of her resolve his unexpected invitation had sent a shiver of nervous excitement through her and had disrupted her ability to concentrate over the days that followed. She'd tossed and turned awkwardly in bed as nightmares of rejection and disappointment overtook pleasant and vaguely erotic dreams. On the morning of her visit she'd taken extra care over her appearance, choosing a flattering set of pale green summer robes instead of her usual high-necked teaching attire. It was all she could do not to skip down the marble staircase to her office.

* * *

"The Institute for Magical Research!"

Green flames engulfed her. A moment later she stepped out into a cavernous reception area with grubby linoleum flooring and heavy square concrete pillars. Witches and wizards wearing white robes bustled back and forth, occasionally stopping to exchange remarks. The whole place resembled an anthive, busy with purposeful activity.

"Minerva!"

He was waiting by the reception desk and looked much the same as she remembered: tall, slightly scruffy and still in desperate need of a hair cut. The pockets of his rather grubby white robes were stuffed full with notebooks, quills, bits of string and other paraphernalia. The Australian climate had obviously suited him well: he had a healthy tan. He smiled and strode towards her, arms outstretched.

"It's good to see you!"

He embraced her warmly and kissed her cheek. The brief physical contact was enough to make her stomach clench and her breath catch in her throat. All over a sudden she couldn't get her words out and managed only a curt nod instead.

Control yourself, she thought. Honestly!

"You just need to sign in here," Ioan said, gesturing at a visitor's log on the desk, oblivious to her discomfort. "Can I get you a drink? A Gillywater, perhaps?" He grinned wickedly.

"No," Minerva said, having finally recovered the power of speech. "Thank you, but I'm fine."

Once her visit had been duly registered Ioan led the way down a long dimly lit corridor past a succession of heavy looking doors with reinforced glass windows, many of which bore rather alarming signs warning unauthorised visitors of the dangers within. In one room Minerva saw a wizard standing in a tray of compost, with green creepers sprouting from his head and arms.

"Biomagus Project," Ioan said, seeing her surprise. "Though quite why any sane wizard would want to transform into a pot plant is beyond me. They're having a lot of trouble with the sensory matrix. They've put three researchers in St Mungo's this month alone, more than the rest of us put together!"

"St Mungo's?" Minerva was taken aback by the casual way in which he spoke.

"Oh yes," Ioan said cheerfully. "We're always keeping them busy! But the Institute makes a hefty donation from our research funds to cover the training of new Healers. And they've recently set up a joint project with the Department of Magical Medicine to develop some advanced treatments for spell damage."

They reached a set of double doors labelled "Department of Temporal Manipulation – Room 124 – Project Icarus" and she followed him through into his laboratory. It was a high ceilinged room, painted white and well lit despite the rather small windows. The centre of the room had been cleared of furniture and a large yellow square had been painted on the floor. Workbenches and desks were arranged haphazardly around the edge, most of them piled high with books and pieces of parchment. Here and there researchers were muttering to themselves as they tested charms, scribbled furiously in notebooks and tinkered with equipment. One wall was lined with tall, glass fronted cabinets containing a selection of strange looking magical instruments not dissimilar to those used by Dumbledore, and over in the far corner several young witches and wizards were busy scrawling complex looking equations on a large blackboard. Minerva recognised two of them as recent Hogwarts students, both of whom had been in her Transfiguration N.E.W.T. class and scored high marks in their exams.

"It's funny," Ioan murmured. "Last time I worked here I couldn't find research assistants for love nor money, but now that Temporal Manipulation is fashionable again I'm besieged by them! This is my room, on the right here."

He ushered Minerva into his small office, which was just as cluttered as the main laboratory. He removed a stack of back issues of _Time Times_ from the chair opposite his desk and gestured for her to sit down.

"Sorry about the chaos. I'm putting together a paper summarising some of the early experiments with the time turner. I was hoping to submit it for publication this month but I never seem to have the time to finish it."

"Project Icarus?"

"Oh, that. A lot of people thought I was being ridiculously ambitious when I was trying to get this thing off the ground, said it would never work and I'd be humiliated and all that. So when it came to choosing a project name I thought, why not? Of course, the joke's on them now. But it's a good reminder for us all not to get too carried away."

"I see."

Ioan was rummaging through one of the drawers of his desk. Eventually he emerged with a small package wrapped in tissue paper which he thrust across the desk towards her.

"Here," he said. "I brought this back from Australia for you."

She unwrapped it to reveal a silk scarf patterned in elegant shades of green. She lifted it out and felt the smooth, cool feel of the delicate material rippling over her hands. In the light, the colours looked even more beautiful.

"It's muggle made," Ioan explained. "I went to visit the workshop where they produced them. I'm very interested in muggle craftwork. It's amazing the sorts of things they can achieve without magic, and I'm always looking for ideas that I might be able to use in my research. Anyway, they make the dyes out of eucalyptus oil from the local forest and when I saw the colour of this one I thought of you.

"It's beautiful," she said sincerely. "But you shouldn't have!"

"Not at all. Just be glad I didn't bring you back a digeridoo!"

"A _what_?"

"It's a sort of indigenous musical instrument made from the wood. Very loud. And very large, too."

He glanced at his watch and then stood up.

"Come on. Let me show you observational time turners in action!"

* * *

Minerva could barely concentrate as Ioan talked her through his work in more detail. She was immensely touched by his gift, and it was all the more lovely for being so unexpected. Surely this had to mean something? And he'd been thinking of her, even when he was many thousands of miles away!

Concentrate, she scolded herself.

"We've been designing a new interface to try and facilitate multiple users whilst still maintaining portability," Ioan was saying animatedly. "This is our latest prototype." He held out a flattened gold time turner the size of the palm of his hand. "Come over to the test area and I'll show you how it works."

She followed him over to the yellow area of floor in the centre of the room and, on his instruction, touched her index finger against the time turner. Ioan tapped the hourglass with his wand and it revolved twice. The room shimmered briefly and then disappeared. Minerva felt a flying sensation not dissimilar to using the Floo network but it lasted for only a few a seconds and then she felt her feet touch the floor again and saw the blurred colours around her separate back into the desks and blackboards of the lab.

The room looked exactly the same, the researchers still as busy and still in the same places they had occupied a moment before.

"It didn't work," Minerva said dismayed.

Ioan said nothing but nodded towards the main door of the lab behind her. She heard the tap of heels and turned just in time to see two very familiar figures enter the room: a dark haired witch accompanied by a tall man in grubby white robes.

"It's us," she said. "But how can that be? I would have seen us here when we came in!"

She watched her past self stare curiously around the laboratory, gazing briefly at the very spot where she now stood, but with no sign of recognition or confusion. When she turned back to Ioan he was smiling proudly. Of course, she realised suddenly. The whole point of an observational time turner was that you couldn't interfere with the past, that you were effectively invisible to the people you saw.

"So it does work!"

"Yes. And watch this." He strode over to the nearest desk and moved as if to thump it. But instead of rebounding off the solid surface, his hand passed easily through it, the wood appearing as insubstantial as air. It was as if he was a ghost.

"See? No interaction or effect on the past whatsoever!"

Before Minerva could respond the room suddenly blurred again and the floor fell away. Once more she had the sensation of flying through space. A moment later they were back in the laboratory, but now their past selves were no longer visible. Were they back in the present? It seemed so.

Ioan looked a little sheepish. "As you can see the charms we've developed don't last very long. An hour at the most, and there's no way of controlling it. You never know when it's suddenly going to throw you back to the present, as you've just seen. That's why we've set up this test area here. I got fed up with people turning up all over the lab and knocking each other over."

"That doesn't sound very promising."

He shrugged. "There's still a lot of work to do, but this is further than anyone has managed to get before. I'm very hopeful that in a year or two we will have something good enough to put into wider production."

"A year or two?" Minerva was aghast. "Then there's no way it could be used now? I was hoping we might be able to investigate Cedric Diggory's death, maybe find some way of corroborating Potter's story…"

"Absolutely not! It would be far too dangerous. You've seen how unpredictable it is. I've had researchers get stuck in the past and have to wait it out. Sometimes it works like a normal time turner instead and we find ourselves visible when we shouldn't be. What if that happened? We could both be killed! And that's assuming I could get us back that far in time which I doubt!"

She followed him back into his office feeling very disappointed indeed.

"I'm sorry, Minerva," he said more gently. "I can see this means a lot to you and I wish I could make it work but it really is impossible."

"It's my fault," she reassured him as she settled herself back into his spare chair. "I should have explained a bit better in my letter. Then I wouldn't have had to waste your time."

"Minerva, seeing you could never be a waste of my time. And now you can impress all your colleagues with your up-to-the-minute knowledge of Project Icarus! Besides," he added. "I'm impressed that you'd go to all this trouble to help Harry Potter. You must care a great deal about the boy."

"I don't know about that. I've taught him for four years. Given him a detention or two. And he's in my House, of course. I feel a certain amount of responsibility, as I do for all of my students."

"Do you believe all this then? That You-Know-Who is back?"

"Dumbledore believes it be true. So I do too. And Potter – for all his faults – has never struck me as being dishonest. Or an attention seeker." She sniffed. "The Daily Prophet would have you believe otherwise, of course."

"I've always taken the Daily Prophet with a generous pinch of salt," Ioan said grimly. "You only have to read some of the rubbish they've published about the Institute over the years. Claiming that we're conducting secret experiments for the Ministry, that we're using muggles as test subjects, all sorts of rubbish."

"Yes," Minerva said, a little snappily. "Unfortunately the majority of people seem to be of the opinion that if it is printed in a newspaper then it must be true."

"Well, I'm sorry to have to abandon you so quickly but I've got a funding meeting to go to and unfortunately there's no way I can get out of it. In fact, I'm already five minutes late. Would you mind terribly if I had one of my assistants escort you back down to reception?"

* * *

By the time Minerva arrived back in her office she was feeling very disappointed indeed.

She'd been thrilled when Ioan had welcomed her so warmly and then presented her with the unexpected gift but his subsequent rather abrupt dismissal of her had stung more than she cared to admit. Foolish as it might have been, she was hoping they would have had some opportunity to socialise away from the laboratory. Perhaps a dinner invitation or even just a coffee. Instead one of her own former students had guided her back to reception, so awkward about seeing his former teacher that he'd insisted on calling her Professor and had stumbled painfully over the few words of small talk they'd exchanged. And now Minerva was back at Hogwarts with nothing to show for her efforts, either personally or professionally.

Back to square one, she realised.

Still, it _was_ a very beautiful scarf.

Feeling a rare desire for company she made her way to the staffroom where she found Filius Flitwick frowning over the latest edition of the Daily Prophet.

"Any news, Minerva?" he said eagerly.

"Excuse me?"

She hadn't told anyone she was going to Cornwall, preferring as usual to keep things as private as possible. Heaven forbid any of her colleagues might guess that she had had an ulterior motive for her visit to the I.M.R. So how on earth had Filius found out?

"About the Dark Arts post, that is," Filius added, apparently noticing her confusion.

"Oh," Minerva said, feeling slightly foolish for jumping to her own conclusions. "No, there haven't been any applicants yet. But Dumbledore is still optimistic."

"Really? Well Severus was looking for you. He said it was urgent. Something about the timetable, I gather, though the damn fellow refused to tell me any more than that. He wanted to see you as soon as you got back."

Inwardly Minerva's heart sank. The timetable was a great source of discontent amongst the staff and – as was the case with most of the more controversial areas of school policy – it was Minerva's unfortunate task to sort it out. Dumbledore had realised very early on that his Deputy Headmistress did not shirk from responsibility and, Minerva was starting to realise, had taken full advantage of her dedication. And now she had the headache of trying to produce a teaching schedule that suited everyone. Pomona preferred a later start to the day so that she had time to tend to the greenhouses before teaching; so did Aurora, who was frequently up late into the night stargazing. Severus did not like to have O.W.L. or N.E.W.T. classes on Mondays, believing that his students were "even more dunderheaded than usual" when tired from the weekend, whereas Filius liked to get the tricker lessons out of the way earlier in the week. Septima liked Tuesday mornings off in order to attend the Hogsmeade Ladies Book Club, or Gossip Club as Minerva had privately and rather uncharitably renamed it. Nobody wanted to teach on Friday afternoons. The overall result was that, whichever way she designed it, none of her colleagues were ever completely happy. In her early days of timetable management Minerva had fretted long into the night trying to come up with better solutions to the problem. But now she was a lot more thick skinned.

"Severus," she said irritably as she marched into his office, not bothering to wait for an invitation. "I am NOT changing the timetable again. It's taken me weeks to get it finalised!"

"This isn't about the timetable."

"Well, then what is it about? And why can't it wait until I've had a chance to-"

"Potter's in trouble with the Ministry. Used magic on a muggle, apparently. Dumbledore's already left for London. He wants us both at Grimmauld Place for an urgent Order meeting in half an hour. Well, ten minutes now. So you'd better get a move on."

As Minerva hastened back to her rooms to fetch a warmer cloak she wondered if things could possibly get any worse.


	3. Chapter Two

**Chapter 2**

* * *

"Next item on the agenda," Alastor Moody announced, "is the issue of Harry Potter travelling to Hogwarts. Now I still think the safest option is for him to be escorted separately to Hogwarts with an appropriate guard."

There was a murmur of agreement from many of the witches and wizards gathered in the gloomy kitchen. Sirius Black, however, was shaking his head from where he stood leaning against the dresser.

"If I might interject," Severus Snape said softly from the far end of the table. "I have told you all several times that the Dark Lord has made no mention of plans to snatch Potter from the Hogwarts Express. The boy revels in his celebrity status enough as it is. He certainly doesn't need any more special treatment."

"Harry isn't asking for any special treatment," Sirius said angrily. "I'm sure he'd much rather been on the train with his friends. Not that you'd know much about friends."

"If you have nothing better to offer to the discussion than petty insults, Black…"

Minerva McGonagall stretched awkwardly in her uncomfortable wooden chair and sighed to herself. The Order of the Phoenix was more than two hours into their meeting and had still only covered half of the items on the agenda. There was an air of frustration in the room. Sirius and Severus were taking every opportunity to snipe across the table at each other. Nothing had really been decided or achieved.

It was the first time that they had held a meeting in the absence of Dumbledore, and the first time Minerva had realised that without him the Order was little better than a bunch of squabbling children. Dumbledore had been due to attend, of course, but had sent his apologies at the last minute after receiving an urgent owl from Cornelius Fudge. He hadn't divulged the contents of the message to Minerva but she had had the distinct impression that it had not been good news. So she had travelled alone by floo to Diagon Alley and then made her way across the city to Grimmauld Place, stopping en route at her favourite muggle bookshop where she had passed a pleasant half hour browsing the shelves and making several purchases.

"Dumbledore felt that we should treat Harry as normally as possible," she said. "But an escort to King's Cross would be reasonable, I think. And I shall ensure a member of staff is on hand to keep an eye on him when the train arrives at Hogsmeade."

Mad-Eye looked like he was about to object but Minerva fixed him with a firm glare and after a moment or two he nodded his assent.

"Item number six: intelligence on the whereabouts of He Who Must Not Be Named and his attempts to recruit more followers."

It was another hour before the meeting finally drew to an end, and only then because Minerva had firmly insisted that several of the matters in question did not require urgent discussion and could be left until Dumbledore was able to join them once more. The only person not glad to see it finish was Mad-Eye, who would have been quite happy to continue for the rest of the night, it seemed.

"Will you join us for dinner, Minerva?" Molly's tone was almost pleading. Minerva suspected mealtimes at number twelve Grimmauld Place were a rather depressing affair but she had no desire to stay. Aside from the fact that she did not feel it was appropriate for her to be seen in the house by any of her students, she already had a prior engagement. She made her apologies and left as quickly as she could.

Outside she followed Nymphadora and Moody to the scrubby patch of grass that formed a square in the middle of Grimmauld Place. Carefully they checked for muggle eyes but nobody was paying any attention. Minerva nodded politely to her fellow Order members and then turned swiftly on her heel.

* * *

She found herself standing on a wide stone promenade overlooking the sea. A cluster of colourful wooden boats tied up at the quayside just below rocked gently in the shallow breakers. Beyond the quay the rocky cove curved around in a tight horseshoe, climbing away from the water below to steep wooded cliffs on either side. A fresh breeze ruffled the distant trees and a couple of rather optimistic seagulls rode the thermals above, constantly alert for any sign of food. Behind her lay the village of Tinworth: an untidy jumble of pastel terraced houses that looked as though a box of children's sweets had been upended over the hillside. Just across from the waterfront was the village pub, its large stonewalled garden full of wizards and witches enjoying the sunshine. It could not have been more different from the sticky, noisy discomfort of London in the summer, or the muggles that ran like ants through its streets.

She turned to see Ioan Chant hurrying down the promenade towards her, one hand waved in greeting. Despite herself she couldn't help smiling. After her rather disappointing visit to the Institute a few weeks before she hadn't expected to see him again, but Ioan had surprised her with an apologetic letter and an offer to buy her dinner as soon as the final draft of his research paper was finished. An invitation had duly followed, and though it was a little closer to the start of term than she would have preferred, Minerva had accepted.

He greeted her with a brief hug and then took in her appearance; the scarf he had given her was the only splash of colour against her plain black muggle dress and matching handbag.

"You do realise there aren't any muggles here?"

"Yes, of course," she said. "I was in London and came straight here."

Ioan hesitated for a moment. "Well, I was going to suggest a meal at the local inn…" he gestured across the road. "But seeing as you're dressed for it, what about a muggle restaurant? I know a lovely place just up the coast that does the most delicious scallops. And I could introduce you to Rebecca!"

"Rebecca?"

Minerva was a little confused. She knew Ioan was an only child and both his parents still lived in the Welsh village where he'd been brought up. He'd never mentioned anyone called Rebecca. Was she a girlfriend he'd neglected to mention? They'd never really discussed personal relationships, after all. Minerva tried to ignore the stab of resentment that went through her and followed Ioan up a narrow cobbled road that wound its way in between the rows of houses and along a small side street. He stopped by a pair of double wooden doors which he unlocked with a tap of his wand and opened to reveal a bulky shape covered in dark brown canvas.

"Here she is!"

He tugged off the cover to reveal a small dark blue vintage convertible sports car, immaculately clean and polished to within an inch of its life.

"You named your car Rebecca?"

"Yes! There was a famous muggle author who lived not far from here who wrote a book by the same name. I thought it would be a good name for a Cornish car."

Ioan reversed the car out of its garage and carefully folded down the canvas roof, a rather complex procedure that took some time. However, once they were away down the back lanes leading out of Tinworth Minerva had to admit it was worth it. It was noisy with the roof down, too noisy for conversation, so she settled for enjoying the feel of the fresh breeze in her hair and the view of the beautiful Cornish countryside. In what seemed like no time at all they were driving into a small muggle town that seemed very busy and lively after the quiet of Tinworth.

The Jolly Sailor was an upmarket and apparently very popular restaurant on the seafront. Ioan was clearly a regular: the waiter greeted him cheerfully and managed to find them a small table for two in the corner despite the heaving crowd. To her relief the conversation flowed just as easily as it had before, and in no time at all Minerva found herself tucking into a plate of scallops and bacon in white wine sauce whilst Ioan told her more about his interest in cars.

"It was my father that started it. He wanted something for us to do together when I wasn't in school so he bought me an old Morris Minor for my fourteenth birthday. He spent the holidays teaching me how to fix her up and how to drive. I had her for years, and when she finally broke down irreversibly I missed her so much I bought Rebecca instead. I use her to get out of Tinworth if I fancy a break. And to visit my parents, of course."

Ioan took a long sip of his wine.

"She's completely muggle, you know. No charms or magical modifications. Not many wizards can say that about their cars!"

"I'm impressed," Minerva said, meaning it. She didn't know many witches and wizards who owned cars but not a single one of them had ever learned how to drive one properly, far preferring the easy use of magic to propel their vehicles from place to place.

"So how is your mother these days?" Ioan continued, as the waiter cleared their dishes away.

"She's fine, thank you," Minerva said automatically.

"Do you see her very often?"

"Not really. She writes to me. But she spends most of her time with my brothers and their children."

Minerva focused her gaze intently on the dessert menu.

"So you're Aunt Minerva then?" Ioan persisted.

"Yes. Four nieces and two nephews. The eldest is nearly seven."

The truth was that Minerva had seen very little of her family since her father had passed away almost five years earlier. She had been much alike to him in character, having inherited his strong moral sense, fierce intellect and fiery temper. But her relationship with her mother was much more complex. Isobel had given up magic in order to devote herself to a muggle husband; Minerva, presented with almost the exact same choice, had done the opposite. And though Isobel had never known of Minerva's abortive engagement to Dougal McGregor, Minerva still felt as though her mother somehow resented her for having the kind of career that she could only dream of.

With each magical achievement of her early years as a teacher Minerva had sensed the distance between them growing. It hadn't helped that both of her brothers had married girls who seemed perfectly happy to stay at home and produce babies at regular intervals. Isobel got on well with both her daughters-in-law and adored her grandchildren, and these days spent most of her time at one or other of their homes. Her letters were filled with the day-to-day minutiae of their lives, with only a token enquiry as to what Minerva had been up to, and the occasional pointed remark about settling down with a suitable man.

It was a source of great sadness for Minerva, though she tried valiantly to pretend it didn't matter. It was not something she particularly wanted to spoil a pleasant evening by trying to explain.

"I've read 'Rebecca', you know," she said, deliberately changing the subject.

"Really?" Ioan was delighted. "Most people I know have never even heard of it."

"Yes. I've read a few books by Daphne du Maurier. My favourite was 'Frenchman's Creek'. One of my all time favourite books, in fact."

The novel's tale of a bored society lady who fell in love with a dashing pirate had captured fifteen-year-old Minerva's imagination. Even in her adult life its dreamy descriptions of the Cornish coast and their passionate but tastefully written love affair provided wonderful escapism after hours spent marking homework essays.

"In that case," Ioan said between mouthfuls of sticky toffee pudding, "you should come down one weekend and we'll visit the real Frenchman's Creek."

"There's a real one?"

"Oh, yes. Down near Helford. I've never been there but I've heard it's beautiful."

"That would be lovely."

"Well, we should do it soon while the weather is nice. How about next weekend? We could go out for the day. And you could stay overnight if you wanted. I mean, if you didn't want to travel back late at night."

Stay overnight? Minerva's eyebrows shot up as she registered the unexpected invitation. What exactly was Ioan suggesting? Perhaps he did consider her as more than just a friend after all.

"Obviously I meant in the guest room," he added, catching sight of her expression and looking slightly embarrassed. "I wouldn't want you to think I was suggesting anything inappropriate."

"Oh…" Minerva said, hoping the twinge of disappointment she felt wasn't displayed on her face. "Of course not."

She dug her spoon into her dish of lemon sorbet with slightly more force than was necessary. She should have known better, she thought. He was hardly the kind of man to make such a frank advance. And she wasn't exactly a teenager any more.

"I hope you don't think I'm being too forward," Ioan said. "It's just been so lovely seeing you this evening. And we don't seem to have managed to meet up very regularly in the past!"

"Not at all." She smiled. "It'll give me something to look forward to at work this week. The first week of term is always a bit gruelling."

"Then it's settled," he said delightedly, finishing his dessert and wiping a trace of toffee sauce from his chin.

"How are things at the Institute?" she enquired.

"A bit fraught at the moment. A couple of fellows from the Department of Invisibility have vanished, no pun intended. Nobody's heard a word from them for nearly a fortnight and there's been a bit of a fuss about it."

"You don't think something bad might have happened to them?"

"No. This sort of thing happens every now and again. I expect they just decided to try and sell their work privately. Not much funding around for magical research these days. Coffee?"

Ioan did not sound at all concerned and Minerva wondered for a moment if too much time spent with Mad-Eye was making her almost as paranoid as him. Still, she made a note to mention it at the next Order meeting just in case it was significant.

* * *

An hour later Minerva marched into the entrance hall of Hogwarts Castle and nearly fell headlong over a large pink trunk that stood just inside the doorway. She surveyed it with irritation as she rubbed her shin. Surely no student would think to bring such a monstrosity, let along send it on ahead of the train?

Her thoughts were interrupted by a surreptitious hiss. She glanced over to see Pomona Sprout beckoning to her from a side corridor.

"Where have you been? You missed all the excitement!"

"What excitement?" Minerva said warily. Pomona had a wicked streak a mile wide and never missed an opportunity to wind up her colleagues.

"Can't talk here. Come on!"

She darted off down the passageway and Minerva followed reluctantly. It was almost eleven and she'd had a long and rather tiring day. She wanted nothing more than to sink into the comfort of her bed. Tomorrow evening the students would be arriving back and she would have plenty of work to do supervising the final preparations for the start of term.

Pomona's office was a ground floor room with large windows overlooking the greenhouses and an abundance of cuttings and seedlings scattered around the place in various mismatched containers. Minerva lifted a seemingly innocuous potted plant off the nearest chair with extreme caution. It never paid to underestimate Pomona's plants: she was about as blind to their dangers as Hagrid was to those of their animal counterparts. Unwary visitors were highly likely to be squirted, strangled or stung indiscriminately if they didn't watch out.

"Tea?" Pomona said. "Or there's some sloe gin here somewhere, on the off chance you've had a total personality transplant in the last few hours!"

"Neither," Minerva replied tartly. "What's going on?"

"Educational Decree Number Twenty-two," Pomona replied, pouring herself a generous measure of gin. "And before you ask, it says that Cornelius Fudge may select new teachers for Hogwarts if the Headmaster can't find anyone suitable. Which of course he hasn't."

"You mean the Dark Arts post? So Fudge is finding us someone?"

"Found! He told Dumbledore today. That was her trunk you fell over in the entrance hall, by the way."

"That thing?" Minerva said in tones of revulsion. "That belongs to a _teacher_?"

"To the new Professor Dolores Jane Umbridge, no less," Pomona said grimly.

"The name rings a bell. Is she from Beauxbatons?"

Pomona batted away a creeping green tentacle that was attempting to steal her glass. "She's one of Fudge's stooges from the Ministry."

"Her?" Minerva cried, as realisation dawned. Dolores Umbridge was that dreadful woman who had made it so difficult for poor Remus to find employment after he left Hogwarts. "But she's not a teacher!"

"That's what Dumbledore said. He and Fudge had an almighty row about it this afternoon. I overheard them shouting at each other."

Her face was the picture of innocence but Minerva knew from years of experience that 'overheard' really meant 'eavesdropped upon'. She wholeheartedly disapproved of such behaviour, it went without saying, but she wasn't entirely above listening to the details.

"Dumbledore said she wasn't a suitable candidate," Pomona continued, "and that she didn't have the experience for the job. But Fudge said it wasn't up to Dumbledore to decide that any more. He said things at Hogwarts needed to change. Anyway…" She downed the last of her gin and set the glass back down with a flourish. "It's going to be an interesting year."

That, Minerva thought, as she made her way back up the marble staircase to her rooms, was obvious.

* * *

The pre-feast staff drinks party was almost as much of a tradition as the start-of-term feast itself. The entire faculty were expected to gather an hour or two before the feast for aperitifs and a short welcome speech from Dumbledore, along with the formal introduction of any new members of staff.

Minerva nursed her Gillywater quietly in a corner, preferring to observe rather than participate. It was important that she got the measure of new colleagues quickly. Some would lack in confidence to begin with and would need careful support to make sure that the students did not quickly seize upon their weakness and run circles around them. Others might need reining in a little, too keen to make their mark and overly aggressive in their teaching style as a result.

Dolores Umbridge was doing the rounds with Dumbledore, whose expression gave no hint whatsoever that he had had such strong misgivings about her appointment. She was a rather squat witch with girlish pink robes that matched her revolting luggage. She was certainly far too old for the matching hair band and fluffy cardigan. At first glance she appeared to be naïve and old-fashioned, and certainly the kind of teacher that the likes of Fred and George Weasley would see as easy fodder for their amusements. And yet… there was something indefinable about her. Something steely behind the bulging eyes and simpering smile that made Minerva feel a shiver of discomfort. Given her reputation at the Ministry this did not bode at all well.

"Minerva? Another drink?"

Filius Flitwick was at her elbow, glasses in hand.

"No, thank you."

He shrugged and set one glass down on a nearby table, taking a generous measure of champagne from the other.

"What do you think?" he asked quietly. "Myself, I'm a touch concerned about the Ministry connection but she seems fairly harmless in herself."

"We'll see," Minerva said, unwilling to condemn a fellow member of staff based purely on her own intuition. She might be wrong, after all.

She frowned as she saw Albus had spotted her, but before she could make her excuses he was already propelling Dolores Umbridge towards her.

"Ah, my dear Professor McGonagall. Dolores Umbridge, allow me to introduce my esteemed Deputy Headmistress Minerva McGonagall."

Dumbledore's expression was as benign as always but Minerva could sense an unspoken warning.

"Good evening Dolores," she said politely, shaking the rather limp hand that was offered and trying to hide her distaste.

"My dear! What a pleasure it is to meet you at last!" Umbridge gave her a sickly smile. "I'm so looking forward to getting to know you better!"

Minerva was saved from further conversation by the bell signifying the arrival of the train and the need for the staff to make their way downstairs to the Great Hall. Though she had had only a brief contact with Dolores Umbridge she had got the distinct impression that, far from being eager to please, the woman was sizing them all up with deliberate intent. But what exactly was she looking for? Minerva was deep in thought as she made her way slowly down the marble staircase ready to welcome first the returning students and then the new first years. A distant rumble of voices from the driveway told her that her charges were approaching. She straightened her hat carefully and brushed a speck of dirt from her best cloak. Umbridge or no Umbridge, it wouldn't do to let the standard slip.

* * *

To Minerva, the first week of term always seemed like the longest. Each class harboured the usual start-of-term problems: students lost and late, forgotten textbooks, wands – and brains – sluggish from lack of use. On top of that, as Minerva had suspected Dolores Umbridge was making her presence felt and, rather predictably, her first target had been Harry Potter. Minerva had been very concerned to see how tense Harry was. She'd tried to be a little more gentle than usual in the hope that he would understand how important it was that he kept his head below the parapet for the time being. She wasn't at all convinced, however, that the message had sunk in.

On Wednesday she had received an owl from Ioan consisting of a cutting from the Daily Prophet and a short note explaining that since he'd finally submitted his preliminary research to the Journal of Advanced Temporal Writings the Institute had insisted on inviting the Prophet down to do a full page feature. Publicity equalled funding, apparently, and the Institute had rather exaggerated his achievements, but perhaps it might give her a laugh if nothing else. The article itself featured a picture of him sitting awkwardly behind a newly spotless desk, wearing a clean white robe and holding his time turner up for the camera. Minerva was immensely amused and pinned it up on the small noticeboard in her office.

By Friday she'd had a further five written complaints from Dolores Umbridge regarding the conduct of Gryffindor students, though since four out of the five concerned the Weasley twins this was not entirely unexpected. Minerva had ended up calling both of them into her office for a fifteen minute lecture about responsible behaviour. She knew it would make absolutely no difference whatsoever, and they knew that she knew, but all the same it had to be done. Dolores had also had plenty to say about Peeves, the plumbing in the staff wing, timetables, Quidditch, the lack of physical punishment and the discovery of half the faculty merrily drinking in the Three Broomsticks until late on Wednesday night. When she'd finished teaching that afternoon she had marched off down the drive to her waiting carriage with a steely glint in her eye which did not bode at all well.

Still, Minerva decided as she made her way back to her office, whatever the dreadful woman had planned it would keep until Monday.

All thoughts of an early night vanished, however, when she saw the towering stack of paperwork on her desk. The demands of her Order duties were definitely taking their toll on her normally well ordered desk, which should have been clear by now in preparation for the homework that would begin to fill it up again in a few days time.

An hour, she decided reluctantly. An hour's work and then I'm stopping.

She sank wearily into her chair and pulled the first piece of parchment towards her. It was a letter from the parents of Seamus Finnegan requesting that their son be moved to another House, away from 'the disruptive influence of the Potter boy'. Minerva's heart sank. It was likely to be the first of many such complaints if the Prophet continued its current campaign. With a sigh she took up her quill and a fresh piece of parchment and began to compose a tactful but firm reply.

* * *

Saturday dawned bright and sunny. Minerva had been up until almost ten the previous night but had gone to bed with the satisfaction of knowing that her desk was completely clear, meaning that she could relax and enjoy the weekend. Her small selection of muggle clothing was hopelessly outdated so she ventured briefly into muggle London en route to Cornwall and purchased a pretty sleeveless summer dress and matching cardigan and, after carefully observing the Oxford Street crowds, adjusted her tight bun into a slightly looser, more relaxed style. From Diagon Alley she apparated to Tinworth where she found Ioan waiting on the promenade for her once again, this time with Rebecca parked at the kerbside nearby.

From Tinworth they headed south-west towards the Helford River and its tributary, the famous Frenchman's Creek, where they sat for a while on the shady banks watching the water drift lazily by, before heading back to a nearby village for lunch. Ioan listened patient as Minerva complained at length about Dolores Umbridge but did not seem particularly perturbed, pointing out to Minerva that Umbridge was probably just trying to make her mark and would settle down soon enough. Minerva was not convinced but let the matter drop.

They explored the Cornish countryside still further in the afternoon, eventually ending up in the busy muggle town of St Ives, where it transpired that Ioan was not above using magic to find to a suitable parking space for his precious car. Dinner was in a local restaurant, followed by an impulsive visit to a pub where a live band was playing. By the time they made their way unsteadily back to the car park the sun had long since set and Ioan required a sobriety charm in order to safely get behind the wheel.

And not once during the entire day had anyone given Minerva so much as a second glance. She'd been an anonymous stranger, free to behave in whatever manner she desired. For Minerva, who had taught at Hogwarts for almost twenty years, the anonymity of muggle Britain had made a delightful change. It was most unusual for her to pay a visit to any Wizard-run establishment without encountering one or more of her former students or, worse still, parents of her current students keen to question her about the academic prospects of their offspring. It never seemed to occur to any of them that Minerva had a life of her own, or that she preferred to conduct her personal business without their constant interruptions. She was under constant scrutiny: where she went, what she bought, what she wore and who she was with. It was one of the reasons that she preferred to stay in the castle as much as possible, relying on owl order for most of her teaching supplies.

Waking up in Ioan's spare room on the Sunday morning Minerva reflected with pleasure on how different it had been yesterday. For the first time she had felt unselfconscious and free to enjoy herself. It helped that Ioan was such splendid company when he wasn't being fully occupied by his research. They got on so well together and shared an awful lot in common. She loved his outlook on life, his constant enthusiasm and interest in everything and the way he treated the muggle world as a rich source of inspiration and opportunity rather than something to be avoided at all costs. And – for her at least – there was a physical attraction too. More than once yesterday she had found her mind straying into dangerous territory and had had to struggle to push such thoughts aside, fearing her blushes would give her away.

But did he feel the same way about her? If he did then he was hiding it well, she thought, a trifle bitterly. When they had returned to his house late the previous night he had shown her up to the guest bedroom, politely thanked her for her company and bid her goodnight. Still, he'd been stone cold sober by that point and they'd both had a long and tiring day. It hadn't really been the ideal opportunity to try and take things further, even if he had wanted to.

But Minerva was tired of the uncertainty. She had hoped her feelings for him might subside given time but they only seemed to be gaining in strength. If Ioan wanted only friendship then it was pointless for her to keep hoping for more. Down that path lay only disappointment and embarrassment. Better to know where she stood. And if he had no romantic interest in her then she could at least distance herself for a little while until her emotions were more settled. Ioan had promised to take her down to a café on the seafront for breakfast. It was time, Minerva decided, for them to have a serious talk and decide just where, exactly, this was going.

Full of fresh determination, she threw back the sheets and climbed out of bed. It was too warm for her favourite tartan dressing gown so she'd packed a crimson silk robe in her overnight bag and this she pulled on now over her nightgown before stepping out onto the landing.

Faint strains of music drifted up the staircase. Minerva followed them down, admiring as she did the selection of framed prints on the wall, all depicting remote seaside scenes. The staircase descended directly into the living room, a cluttered but cosy room full of mismatched furniture. At the far end of the room a door stood ajar. Minerva peered around the edge of it to find Ioan in what was obviously his study. He was sat at his desk scribbling furiously behind a mountain of parchment, one foot absent-mindedly tapping along to the music that played quietly in the background. There was a splodge of ink on his chin and he was still in what she assumed was his nightwear: a grey t-shirt and striped cotton pyjama bottoms. He was utterly absorbed in his work and had not even noticed her arrival. Breakfast seemed to have been completely forgotten.

For a moment she hesitated, unsure whether or not she ought to disturb him. She felt rather awkward, as if she was an intruder in his private space, unwelcome and uninvited. There was something intimate about what she was seeing, something very raw and personal, even though on the surface it seemed unremarkable. Politeness won out and she retreated back up the staircase to bathe and dress. There was still no sign of her host when she made her way downstairs for a second time so she settled herself in the kitchen with a cup of peppermint tea and a book on temporal manipulation chosen from his extensive collection.

It was another two hours before Ioan finally appeared.

"Minerva! Are you all right? I'm so sorry, I had a sudden inspiration and I just had to get it down. I realised making an adjustment to the migration charms might add stability to the overall framework, allowing us to extend the temporal frame."

He broke off, seeing her raised eyebrows.

"Sorry. I always forget this isn't interesting to anyone else."

"I would be interested," Minerva said mildly, "if I knew what you were talking about!"

"I do apologise. And you won't have had food, either. Oh dear. I would take you out for lunch but I'm afraid if I don't finish this now I'll never remember the correct calculations. Could you bear to wait another hour or so?"

He looked genuinely stricken but Minerva got the distinct impression that 'another hour or so' was going to be an overly optimistic estimate.

"It's quite all right," she told him. "I should get back to Hogwarts anyway. I still have some essays that need to be marked for tomorrow."

The lie had slipped from her lips before she could stop it. She was merely being polite, she told herself firmly, unwilling to admit that there might be an element of hurt beneath her words. Ioan seemed disappointed but did not protest as she gathered her things and said a polite farewell. He waved her off from the doorstep but before she was even halfway down the road she turned to see that he had already gone back inside and closed the door, clearly anxious to get back to work. She did not care to admit how much this bothered her.

No, she decided, as she lay in bed that night, it wouldn't do to make a fool of herself over a man who clearly cared more for books and parchment than he did for her. He had done nothing wrong. He had made polite overtures of friendship and she like an idiot had jumped to completely the wrong conclusion. But she couldn't afford to be distracted at a time like this, with You Knew Who planning goodness knew what and Umbridge poised to run rampage at Hogwarts. She would be best avoiding Ioan Chant in future.

Still, Minerva permitted herself a few brief bitter tears before she finally fell asleep.


	4. Chapter Three

Nb. The details of Umbridge's inspection form are taken from the prop version made for the OOTP film.

**Chapter 3**

"_Hem, hem!_"

"Every time she does that," Pomona Sprout whispered in Minerva's ear, "another little piece of me dies."

Minerva did her best to stifle a snort of laughter but it was too late: from the front of the room Dolores Umbridge fixed her with a piercing glare. She hastily rearranged her expression into one she hoped portrayed interest and attention and kicked Pomona under the table.

"Stop it," she hissed when Dolores was looking the other way, feeling a little ashamed at behaving like one of her students. Pomona merely grinned.

Satisfied that she had her audience under control at last after once last sweeping glance, Dolores twisted her mouth into what she apparently considered to be a warm smile.

"Good morning colleagues!" she sang brightly.

The assembled staff eyed her with a mixture of curiosity and resentment. Nobody was particularly happy at being ordered to attend an urgent meeting in the staffroom a full hour before breakfast, especially on a Monday morning. Who did this newcomer think she was?

"Now that we are all here I would like to introduce the Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge! Yes, the Minister himself has come to address us, isn't that wonderful?" Umbridge gave a girlish giggle and gestured over at the doorway where Cornelius Fudge had apparently been waiting for his cue. He strode into the room with his bowler hat tucked under one arm. He seemed to be enjoying the flattery, Minerva thought, even if he did look a little unhappy to be at Hogwarts.

"As you will no doubt be aware," he began somewhat pompously, "the Ministry of Magic is very keen to improve the standards of education here at Hogwarts. To that end I wish to announce that I have appointed Dolores Umbridge as the new Hogwarts High Inquisitor. I am sure you will all give Professor Umbridge your utmost cooperation in her new role in which, I should not need to remind you, she has the full backing of the Ministry."

Fudge shot a wary glance over the heads of the faculty. Minerva turned to see the Headmaster smiling benignly from the back of the room. She could have sworn he hadn't been there a moment ago. Fudge was clearly expecting resistance but Dumbledore seemed most unconcerned and nodded for the Minister to continue.

"As I was saying… er… any questions?"

"I have a question, if I may?"

"Of course, Professor… er?"

"Flitwick. Filius Flitwick. What _exactly_ is the purpose of a Hogwarts High Inquisitor?"

"The Inquistor shall be responsible for ensuring that Ministry educational standards are met."

"Is that not the job of the Headmaster?"

"Well, yes, of course. But the Ministry feels an objective view is also required. We are, let us not forget, talking about the education of future generations of witches and wizards, a matter that I'm sure you all agree is of the utmost importance. The Inquisitor shall act as a liaison between the Ministry and the Headmaster. An extra pair of eyes, if you will."

Minerva listened in total disbelief. An extra pair of eyes? Hogwarts High Inquisitor? What on earth was Cornelius Fudge thinking? It was a school, not a Ministry courtroom! And this Umbridge woman was little better than a spy. She knew relations between Fudge and Dumbledore had soured of late but she'd never considered that things might get this bad. Around her most of her colleagues were looking equally stunned. Whispers broke out across the room and expressions became increasingly hostile.

Cornelius Fudge seemed to sense the deteriorating atmosphere. "Now if you will excuse me I am due back at the Ministry shortly. I will hand you over now to Professor Dolores Jane Umbridge, Hogwarts High Inquisitor."

"Typical politician," Pomona muttered, as the Minister made a hasty exit. "Leaving as soon as the going gets tough."

But Dolores Umbridge seemed completely unfazed as she took centre stage once more. "Now," she said. "I intend to conduct a full inspection across all areas of the curriculum in order to identify where improvement is needed. For teaching staff there will be two parts to the inspection: firstly you will all be asked to complete a questionnaire designed to give relevant information about your background and to help the Ministry assess your personality, stengths and weaknesses and so forth. This will be followed by a formal observation of you all whilst teaching, otherwise known as a Behavioural Assessment In Class."

She waved her wand at a stack of parchment on a nearby shelf which promptly slid off the shelf and hovered quietly but insistently next to the nearest member of staff, Charity Burbage.

"Do take one, dear!" Umbridge trilled. "It won't bite!"

Charity took the topmost piece of parchment and unfolded it cautiously. The pile moved on to Aurora, who was sitting next to her, and then continued to make its way around the room until all the forms had been distributed. Minerva opened hers. "Department of Magical Education: Progress Report of Magical Didactics" was printed at the top. Below that there were spaces in which to complete personal details such as name, age and occupation, followed by a series of questions.

At the sound of Pomona's voice she focused her attention back on the meeting.

"What happens if a teacher fails the inspection?"

"The Ministry intends to work with any teacher whose performance does not meet the required standard in a mutually agreed improvement plan."

"And if the required _improvement_ is not met?" drawled Snape from the back of the room.

"Well, that would of course be a matter for the Minister to decide. Now, I will be chairing a weekly review meeting to discuss any disciplinary issues that may have arisen during the week and to give you all feedback from the Ministry. After careful review of the timetable I have decided that it will be held at 7pm on Fridays." She paused and gave the assembled staff a triumphant look. "Attendance will be compulsory for all staff," she finished.

A chorus of hastily stifled groans erupted amongst the faculty. Minerva could tell from the mutinous expressions around her that nobody was happy about this latest development, and for good reason. Several of the staff lived in the castle during the week but travelled home to their families for the weekend. Even those who were permanently resident in the castle or in Hogsmeade still took the opportunity to escape for the weekend. Being forced to attend a meeting on Friday evenings – a meeting that would undoubtedly last several hours – would put a massive spanner in the works for any weekend plans. Minerva had a strong suspicion that Dolores was well aware of this.

"You should all now have your pre-inspection assessment forms. These need to be completed and returned to me in advance of your inspection, the dates and times of which will be notified in due course. I will be available here after the meeting. I would encourage you to stay and complete your forms now while I am here to assist you. Good day to you all!"

Despite the fact that there was still another half an hour until breakfast, nobody seemed keen to linger and take up Umbridge's offer. Instead the staff filed out of the room, muttering mutinously but deliberately keeping their voices low. Nobody wished to be identified as a troublemaker. Minerva felt a tug on her arm and turned to see Pomona just behind her.

"_Hem, hem_!" she said with a wink.

"Don't you start," Minerva said. Across the room she could see Dolores narrow her eyes suspiciously.

"So what are we going to do, oh Deputy Headmistress?"

"We need to sit down and have a proper look at it," Minerva agreed. "But not here. My rooms. After dinner."

* * *

Later that night Pomona lounged on Minerva's sofa, feet up and glass in hand. Minerva, meanwhile, was too agitated to sit down and instead paced back and forth the length of her living room, almost knocking her chess set to the floor on one particularly violent turn.

"Never in twenty years of teaching at Hogwarts has there been any question as to my competence! Now I am to be inspected! And by someone who doesn't even have any teaching experience, or any in depth knowledge of my subject for that matter!"

She waved the slip of pink paper that had appeared on her desk that lunchtime.

"I mean, surely my examination results speak for themselves. Not to mention the articles I've had published in _Transfiguration Today_ over the years."

"I think you're taking this a bit too personally," Pomona said mildly. "She's inspecting us all, not just you!"

"Well aren't you upset too? It's terribly… well, insulting!"

Pomona shrugged. "I don't see the point in getting upset. Let her inspect us if it makes her feel big and powerful. It's not like they'll ever find anyone else daft enough to take our jobs!"

"That is not the point!"

With a sigh Minerva gave up her vigil and sank wearily into an armchair. "What exactly do you think she's trying to achieve? I mean, the Ministry has never been concerned about educational standards at Hogwarts before."

"I expect it's just Fudge trying to undermine Albus a bit more. Here, have you read this thing?" Pomona reached for the scroll of parchment and waved it aloft. "'Why did you decide to become a teacher?'" she read aloud, then reached for a quill. "Because I thought it would be easier than getting a proper job!"

"I don't think you should be facetious," Minerva said. "If there's one thing our Dolores clearly doesn't have, it's a sense of humour."

"'If a student said he/she thought you were the worst teacher he/she ever had, what would you say?' I hope you're going to put that no student would ever dare say that to you."

"Well that's the truth," Minerva said grimly. "At least as long as Sybil Trelawney remains on the staff anyway."

Pomona cackled wickedly. "Now there's someone who should be worried."

There was a sudden knock at the door. Minerva looked alarmed. Had Dolores somehow discovered what they were up to? We are not doing anything wrong, she reminded herself. We are perfectly entitled to spend our free time however we please.

"Oh don't worry, that'll be Filius," Pomona said, seeing her concern. "I hope you don't mind but I invited him to join us. Strength in numbers and all that."

Sure enough, when Minerva opened her door it was the diminutive Professor Flitwick who stood before her proffering a box of cauldron cakes and a flagon of butterbeer. She ushered him inside. A quick glance up and down the corridor reassured her that nobody else was around.

"We're just filling in these blasted forms," Pomona said.

"I've done mine," Filius said cheerfully. "Had to, my inspection was this afternoon."

"How did it go?"

"Oh, she just came and sat in the back of my Gryffindor NEWT class. Watched the students, asked a few questions. Quite unremarkable really. I don't think we have anything to be concerned about. Cauldron cake?"

"Hmmph." Minerva was still not convinced.

"You see?" Pomona said, through a mouthful of cake. "I told you. Now let's get our forms filled in so we can talk about something pleasant instead."

* * *

The following day Minerva was in a tense mood. According to her message Dolores was planning to inspect the fifth year Gryffindor transfiguration lesson. Minerva couldn't help but wonder if she had picked a Gryffindor class on purpose, knowing that any disciplinary failings would reflect poorly on Minerva as Head of House as well as their teacher. Still, there was no sense in letting it bother her.

At breakfast she managed only a few mouthfuls of yogurt before shouting erupted in the Great Hall. To her immense displeasure it was coming from the Gryffindor table. Her gaze swept across the students. She quickly identified the culprit as Angelina Johnson and… was that Potter? And on today of all days! Further along the table Dolores was watching keenly, a disapproving expression on her face. Before the dreadful woman could get involved Minerva was on her feet. She made short work of resolving the dispute, determined to show that she was perfectly capable of controlling her students. Perhaps she had been a little harsh on Potter, though she wasn't quite sure how else to impress upon him the seriousness of the situation.

Thankfully her inspection class ran smoothly and even Neville Longbottom managed to acquit himself relatively well. It had probably been a little foolish of her to have been so sharp with Dolores at the beginning of the lesson, but then she had had no desire to let her students see her submit so easily to the new regime. As Deputy Headmistress and Head of House she couldn't afford to let her authority be challenged too much. It would not do to appear weak.

The next few weeks passed quietly. Dolores seemed to have found relatively little to quibble about during her inspections, though Minerva had heard through the grapevine that she had returned to Sybil Trelawney's classes on several occasions. Minerva's attempts to determine the reason for this had been met by a blank refusal from Dolores to discuss it, on the grounds that such matters were confidential, and hysterical sobs from Sybil. It irked Minerva considerably to be left out; she was used to being at the centre of administrative matters and, in most cases, the decision maker. As for Sybil, well she was far from robust at the best of times. A sustained campaign of bullying from Dolores Umbridge was likely to be more than she could handle. Minerva suspected Dolores was well of this.

Still, she had at least been able to escape the castle for a few hours. Despite her best intentions she hadn't quite managed to avoid Ioan Chant completely and he'd invited to her to watch the Caerphilly Catapults play the Wigtown Wanderers, an opportunity too good to pass up. She hadn't been to a League game in years. She'd even been happy to cheer for the Catapults, since they were playing against an English team rather than a Scottish one. The Catapults had duly claimed victory and Ioan had whisked her off for fish and chips, and then to the pub where she'd consumed several glasses of wine before making her excuses and apparating rather shakily back to Hogsmeade.

The following Friday evening she returned to her office after dinner intending to make a start on the weekend's marking before Umbridge's meeting. But no sooner had she picked up her quill than there was a sudden flash of gold. A single feather and a small slip of parchment floated gently down, settling on the desk in front of her. She snatched it up and unfurled it.

Moments later she was hurrying along the corridor towards the familiar statue that guarded the Headmaster's office.

"Fizzing Whizbee," she said to the gargoyle, which obligingly moved aside for her to step onto the staircase. Once at the top she tapped briefly on the office door but did not wait for a response before pushing it open.

"Albus?" she called. "What's wrong?"

He was sitting at his desk, sifting through a pile of paperwork, an open bag of sherbet lemons nearby. Fawkes blinked solemnly from his perch nearby.

"Ah, Minerva. I need you to send an urgent message to your friend Dr Chant. I have received intelligence suggesting that certain dark wizards are interested in his work. And after that rather unfortunate piece in the Daily Prophet they are of the impression that the time turner may be of use to them."

Minerva gazed at him in horror.

"They will be coming for him," Dumbledore continued.

She sank weakly into a chair.

"Good Lord!" she whispered. "You mean… but that article, it wasn't even accurate! The time turner, it's not nearly as far along as the Prophet made out!"

"Indeed. And I suspect when they discover that it is not they may express their disappointment in… unpleasant ways."

He peered meaningfully over his half-moon spectacles at her.

"Dr Chant needs to leave Tinworth, Minerva."

"Tonight?"

"Tonight."

Minerva buried her face in her hands. Ioan in danger… all because of that absurd article in the Prophet. She could just picture him at home now, cheerfully humming along to his music, completely oblivious to any threat. It would never occur to Ioan that his safety might be at risk. She was willing to wager that he had no security measures in place whatsoever.

"But Albus, surely we could inform the Ministry, have a guard put on him…?"

"Minerva, you know as well as I do that the Minister would never hear of such a thing. And besides, the source of this information is one that I cannot afford to compromise. _They must not know we were warned_."

Albus got to his feet and strolled over to fiddle with a complex looking silver instrument.

"Do you trust him?" he asked after a moment.

"I would trust him with my life."

The words were out of her mouth before she even had time to think about it.

"Very well. Then you may tell him the truth. But his departure must appear a coincidence to everyone else. A family emergency perhaps. I will leave it to you to decide."

* * *

Minerva hurried downstairs to her office, intent upon sending an urgent patronus to Ioan. If she was lucky she might be able to warn him in time.

"Minerva?" Aurora Sinistra was approaching her from the other end of the corridor. "I'm glad I caught you! I need to talk you about the new consignment of telescopes for the NEWT students. I've had a change of heart about the Stellarscopes."

"Oh… can we talk about it later? Please?"

Aurora looked a little disgruntled but nodded reluctantly. Free once more, Minerva hurtled into her office and shut the door firmly behind her. One swift wave of her wand and a silver cat sprung from the tip and bounded away in search of Ioan.

And then there was nothing to do but wait.

The minutes passed slowly as she paced around her office. It was a small room: the study she'd been given as a new member of staff almost twenty years before. Albus had offered on numerous occasions to move her into a larger office more appropriate to her status as a senior member of the faculty but she'd always turned him down. She liked the cosiness of the room and its close proximity to her classroom, not to mention the fond memories that it held. What would she do with more space anyway?

She glanced up at the clock. Half past six. Thirty minutes until she was expected at Umbridge's meeting. It wasn't nearly enough time to get to Tinworth, help Ioan escape and get back safely, even if she apparated directly there.

Still there was no reply to her patronus.

It was no use, she decided. She couldn't sit helplessly by whilst the life of one of her friends hung in the balance. She would have to go to Tinworth. It wasn't as if she hadn't been seen at Ioan's house before, she reasoned. It was perfectly plausible that she might drop by on a Friday evening to see him. She would deal with Umbridge later.

Mind made up at last, she pulled her travelling cloak off the hook on the back of the door and hastened out of her office and down the marble staircase. If she was swift and he was at home she might not be too late for the meeting. She could always bring Ioan back to Hogwarts with her until more suitable arrangements could be made.

She was almost at the front door when she saw the figure watching her impassively from the entrance to the Great Hall and stopped abruptly.

"I've sent a patronus but there's been no response," she said by way of an explanation. "I thought I might just go and see him… just in case…" She trailed off.

Dumbledore said nothing but regarded her calmly.

Minerva sighed. "Albus, I can't leave him to die there, I just can't!"

She was aware she was starting to sound slightly hysterical but she couldn't help herself. There was too much at stake to worry about such trivialities now.

_I love him._

The words were in her head before she realised it, and very nearly on her tongue as well. She managed to stop herself from blurting it out but Dumbledore was observing her keenly, almost as if he was reading her mind. He always had had a knack for reading between the lines. Minerva shifted uncomfortably. She could feel her cheeks growing hot.

"Come with me," Dumbledore said at last.

She followed him silently back upstairs, past the gargoyle and up the spiral staircase to his office. If he thought her concern for Ioan was over the top then he didn't comment. Instead he rummaged in one of his desk drawers and produced a small silver cylindrical object which she recognised after a moment as his deluminator. From another drawer he extracted a quill and a small piece of parchment, upon which he carefully printed a single sentence. Beckoning her over, he handed her the deluminator and the parchment. When she read what he had written relief flooded through Minerva's body.

"Thank you," she whispered, tucking it carefully into an inside pocket of her robes.

"It may already be too late," he cautioned her. "Do not risk your own life if the situation is beyond salvage. I have lifted the apparition restriction just for a few minutes. I will give your apologies to Dolores. Now go."

* * *

Tinworth lay silent and still under a cloudy sky. Minerva stepped cautiously out into the street from the alley that she had apparated into and immediately regretted not changing out of her high heels. Hastily she took them off and transfigured them into soft soled pumps. If there were indeed Death Eaters in Tinworth she didn't want them to hear her coming from the other end of the road.

A chill breeze sent the first of the autumn leaves skittering along the road and Minerva pulled her travelling cloak more tightly around her shoulders. September was almost over already. Soon winter would be upon them. It seemed that the inclement weather was keeping the villagers indoors: there was no sign of life on the street. Still, Minerva was determined not to take any chances. A few clicks of the deluminator whisked away the soft glow of the streetlamps and plunged the area around Ioan's house into darkness.

She slipped silently down the path and then stopped abruptly. Ahead of her she could see Ioan's front door hanging ajar, splintered wood and scorch marks around the lock. Cold fear trickled down her spine. She had hoped that Dumbledore had been misinformed, that she would arrive to find Ioan engrossed in his studies as usual, sipping his tea as he frowned over a tricky calculation. Now that hope was draining away. He would have been caught unawares, completely defenceless.

Wand in hand, she took a deep breath and pushed open the door. The house was dark and silent. Was she already too late?

The living room was deserted but there had clearly been a struggle of some sort. A side table had been upended, books and journals were scattered across the floor and there was a dark stain on the carpet that still looked wet. The study was in an even worse state. Ioan's framed diploma had been blasted from the wall; glass crunched beneath her feet. There was no sign of Ioan.

Minerva had never felt so helpless. She sank into a nearby armchair and buried her face in her hands, furiously trying to blink away the tears. What could she do now? Was there any chance of finding Ioan, perhaps rescuing him before it was too late? It seemed unlikely. They could have taken him anywhere, and it wouldn't take them long to learn that Project Icarus was far from the triumph they'd been expecting.

Oh Ioan, she thought.

A muffled thump from upstairs startled her out of her despair and all of a sudden she realised her mistake. With the house in darkness, the sudden extinguishing of the streetlamps would have been painfully obvious to anyone inside. They would have known she was coming.

Which meant that they could still be here…

"Homenum revelio!" she whispered. A moment later her wand glowed silver. There was at least one other person in the house. Ioan? Or Death Eaters?

She took a step towards the staircase and then stopped. If there was someone lying in wait upstairs they'd be expecting a human form. She'd made one careless mistake already. But now she had a distinct advantage.

A moment later she was seeing the world through feline eyes. In this form she was built for stealth: the hunter, not the hunted. Heightened night vision, soft silent paws, powerful muscles. She slunk upstairs, pressing her small body against the skirting where the shadows would keep her hidden. The increased sensitivity of her nose brought new information: cloying aftershave that did not belong to Ioan. And the warm coppery stench of blood.

One more step and then she raised her head cautiously over the landing. Ahead of her the door to Ioan's bedroom stood open. A large cloaked figure waited just inside, wand raised, masked face turned towards the staircase. The mask was one she hadn't seen in a while but its hideous engravings made it instantly recognisable: Death Eater.

Beyond the first man she could just about see a second dark form looming over another, very familiar figure.

Ioan.

Alive.

His shirt sleeve was torn and blood oozed from a gash on his temple but otherwise he looked all right, if a little pale and very frightened.

She exhaled, relief exuding from every pore. He was alive. She could still save him. And two against two, well that wasn't impossible by any stretch.

She needed to think carefully, pick the best possible moment.

But it was already too late.

Ioan had spotted her, his curious eyes drawn to the shadow that her pointed ears cast on the wall behind her. The sudden look of surprise and shock on his face gave her presence away. Any hope that it might have gone unnoticed faded when the second Death Eater gestured at her with his wand.

"There!" he snapped at his companion.

Before the other one could react she was back in human form and brandishing her wand at them both.

"Let him go," she hissed. "_Now_."

The hulking Death Eater in the doorway laughed, the sound oddly muffled by his mask.

"Well, well, well," he sneered, stepping forward and matching her pose. "Minerva McGonagall. Rather a coincidence that the Order of the Phoenix should be in Tinworth tonight, of all nights."

"She's his girlfriend," the smaller of the two said dismissively, wand still trained on Ioan. "She's been seen here before."

"Is that so?" The man in the doorway turned back to look at Minerva, his ornately carved mask glinting sinisterly in the candlelight. "Your lover has an appointment with the Dark Lord. Surrender your wand, Professor, and you at least shall live."

"I hardly think so," Minerva snapped, wand firm and unshaking. "And as for surrendering my wand, do you really think me that foolish?"

"Minerva! No!"

"_Silencio!_"

Deprived of speech Ioan could only frown furiously at her.

"You Gryffindors and your foolish bravado," his captor said mockingly.

"At least I am not hiding behind a mask," Minerva said coolly. "Show your face, coward!"

With a sudden slash of her wand the Death Eater's mask was tugged from his face and flew high into the air, clattering off the stone wall with a noisy clang. Where the mask had been was the face of a rather pale middle-aged man with heavy black eyebrows that contrasted sharply with his balding scalp.

It was a face rather familiar to Minerva.

"Angus Murphy," she said, disgust evident in her voice. "Dear, dear. One assumes the Auror Department is unaware of your extracurricular activities."

Murphy had been a year below her at school, a Slytherin prefect and a well known bully. Minerva had been surprised to learn of his acceptance into Auror training. She'd suspected the influence of his uncle, a senior Ministry official.

His expression twisted into an ugly snarl.

"Cruci-"

She blocked his curse with ease. A second flick of her wand brought a swarm of books flying from a nearby shelf to fling themselves one by one heavily against the back of his head. Murphy was forced to duck down, arms raised above his head to fend them off.

He retaliated with another curse and again she deflected it, sending a stream of golden flame at him in response, a favourite spell of hers. Perhaps it was over-confidence, perhaps she was merely distracted by the duel. But Minerva had forgotten that the stairs descended immediately behind where she stood. When she took a step backwards to steady herself her foot found only empty air.

Before she could attempt to regain her balance she was toppling backwards, a sickening feeling in the pit of her stomach as she plunged down the staircase.

She hit the wooden banisters hard, then tumbled sideways to land heavily at the bottom of the stairs. The impact forced the breath from her lungs and left her lying on the threadbare rug winded and gasping for breath. Sharp pain shot through the side of her chest. Her wand, thrown from her hand as she grasped for support, clattered uselessly across the flagstones and disappeared under an armchair.

She was wounded and worse: defenceless.

He had won.

Murphy's triumphant smirk hurt more than the fall. He sauntered slowly down the first few steps.

"I really had no intention of harming _you_, Minerva. What a pity you couldn't keep your nose out and your wand to yourself. Such a waste of magical talent."

She met his gaze defiantly, determined not to give him the satisfaction of seeing her look afraid. It hurt to breathe. Still, at least the pain would be gone shortly.

He raised his wand.

To die like this, she thought, just because I didn't check behind me. How utterly ridiculous.

A flash of green light.

And then, to her utter shock, Murphy was falling towards her, his face frozen, his wand slipping unnoticed from his hand.

She managed to roll to the side just in time to avoid being crushed beneath him. When she looked back she could see his expression was slack; he was clearly dead.

But if he hadn't cast the killing curse then who…?

She looked back up at the staircase. There at the top stood Ioan Chant, wand in hand, gazing down at the body on the floor with an expression of abject horror on his face. There was no sign of the other Death Eater.

Oh, Ioan, she thought. You, me and a dead Auror. Now what on earth are we going to do?


	5. Chapter Four

This chapter is rather longer than I meant it to be but I liked it so much I couldn't bear to cut any of it!

* * *

**Chapter 4**

* * *

"Minerva! My god, are you all right?"

Ioan stumbled down the stairs towards her, ashen faced.

"I'm ok… I think." She managed to push herself up to a sitting position, wincing at the sharp pain that shot through her side. Other than her ribs, though, nothing else seemed to be injured. Ioan held out a hand to her and helped her to her feet.

"My wand…"

"Here." He found it on the floor behind the armchair and handed it back to her. The feel of its familiar rounded handle in her palm brought immediate reassurance.

"Lumos!"

She prodded Murphy with the toe of her foot, half hoping he might still be alive, that Ioan had perhaps only stunned him. The idea of him using the killing curse on a fellow wizard – even a Death Eater – left her feeling very unsettled. It wasn't the sort of thing she could have ever imagined him doing.

"I didn't kill him," Ioan said, as if reading her mind. "I didn't even see it. It must have been the other one. By the time I'd found my wand he'd already disapparated."

Minerva frowned. "That doesn't make sense. Why would they turn on each other?"

"I don't know. But you have to believe me. I would never use an unforgiveable curse like that. Never."

She looked over at him, and then back to the body on the floor.

"Minerva…"

"I believe you," she said, meaning it.

She gazed around at the devastation of Ioan's living room. It broke her heart to see it: everything he had worked so hard for destroyed in a few wand strokes.

"Why were you here anyway?" Ioan asked after a moment. "I mean, not that I'm not grateful, it's just that you've never turned up unannounced like this before, and tonight of all nights…"

"I'll explain later," she said firmly. "First we have to get you out of here before the Ministry find out about this."

"You mean… sorry, what? Shouldn't we be informing the Ministry? Not running away from them. I mean, we haven't done anything wrong!"

"Ioan, there's an Auror lying dead on your living room floor!"

"An Auror? But he's a Death Eater!"

"His name is Angus Murphy and as far as the Ministry are concerned he's an Auror. And they're trying to deny any suggestion that He Who Must Not Be Named has returned. I hardly think they'll admit that they failed to recognise a Death Eater amongst their own supposed Dark Wizard catchers! No, they'll say he was the victim here. Which makes you the prime suspect."

Ioan laughed uncertainly. "That's a little paranoid, isn't it? We're both professionals. Surely they'll listen to our statements, examine our wands…" He trailed off when he saw the expression on her face.

"Didn't you hear what I said? He's an Auror! The way the Ministry is at the moment they won't want to hear anything about Death Eaters attacking people. They'll make out you're insane, that you attacked him. They won't even give you a trial!"

He gazed at her in horror.

"Look what they're doing to Potter," she added. "And he's just a boy!"

"You're right," he whispered. "You're absolutely right."

For a moment they both sat in silence.

Abruptly Minerva stood. "Come on," she said briskly. "It's high time we were leaving."

She conjured a large cardboard box out of thin air, then turned her wand on the furniture. Before Ioan had grasped what she was doing he saw his sofa shrink down to a tiny size and fly into the box, closely followed by the bookcases, the sideboard and a low table that held his muggle stereo. He managed to leap out of the armchair just before that disappeared too. The few pictures that still remain on the walls followed suit, shrinking to the size of postage stamps as they did so. When the room was empty she marched into the study and repeated the trick, then headed upstairs. Ioan remained where he was, still unable to believe what had happened.

A few minutes later Minerva came back downstairs, holding the now-closed box in her arms.

"Hold this." She thurst the box at Ioan.

"Take my arm."

"Wait!"

"What is it?"

"My car!"

She stared at him, eyes widened in astonishment.

"Yes, all right," he muttered. "Let's go."

* * *

A moment later they were both standing in a miserable, rubbish-strewn square surrounded by unkempt houses. The orange glow of sodium lamps reflected back from the overcast sky did nothing to improve the view, nor was the background city noise of sirens, traffic and shouting particularly pleasant. It was an unlikely place of sanctuary but it was the best option they had. Minerva silently thanked Dumbledore for his foresight.

"Where are we?" Ioan asked.

"London. Here, read this."

Minerva pulled the crumpled piece of parchment from her pocket and thrust it at him.

"What..?"

"Read it!" she hissed. "Quickly!"

Sure enough, the grubby façade of number twelve Grimmauld Place muscled its way into view. Minerva snatched the parchment from Ioan and set it alight with her wand, then grabbed Ioan's sleeve and steered him up the steps to the front door.

"But what…?"

"Ssssh! Just follow me."

The hallway was dark and deserted with no sign of life. Minerva didn't dare light the lamps for fear of awakening Mrs Black. She hastened down the hall and through the door leading to the basement staircase with Ioan trailing silently behind her.

The kitchen was also empty, though the gas lamps were lit and a scattering of still-warm ashes in the grate and a stack of dirty dishes on the draining board suggested Sirius hadn't long left. Minerva briefly considered going upstairs to find him but then thought better of it. Her ribs were protesting and she desperately needed to sit down. And what would she gain by dragging Sirius into matters now? Nothing much, it seemed.

"Sit!" she snapped at Ioan, before he could protest. He raised his eyebrows but said nothing, setting his precious cardboard box down on the long wooden table and pulling out a chair.

"Tea?"

"I'd prefer a brandy," Ioan muttered grimly. "And an explanation."

She glared at him and raised her wand. A moment later two glasses and a snifter full of dark golden liquor had appeared on the table. She poured them both a generous measure and then sank into the chair next to him.

"I'm sorry for being so mysterious," she said wearily. "This is the only place I could think of where you would be safe."

"What _is_ this place? And what is 'the Order of the Phoenix'?"

"A group of us who believe that You Know Who is back and are trying to do whatever we can to stop him. This is our secret headquarters. Dumbledore agreed to let you come here."

"Dumbledore?"

"The Ministry won't find you here. We can protect you. Until we find a way to clear your name."

There was a silence as Ioan struggled to make sense of all that was happening. Minerva took a small sip of her brandy and swallowed it quickly, savouring the warm shiver that the alcohol sent through her body. After a moment she knocked back the rest of the glass.

"So," Ioan said eventually. "Let me get this straight. You-Know-Who sent Death Eaters after me tonight trying to get their hands on the time turner. And you were there… why were you there?"

"Dumbledore had a tip off. A warning of some sort. He didn't give me any details."

"Good lord!" Ioan said, shaking his head in amazement. "I had no idea, no idea at all…"

Minerva reached for the brandy snifter. Her hands had been rock steady when brandishing her wand at men who meant to kill her but now shock was setting in and they trembled as she poured herself another drink. She sat back a little more comfortably in her chair.

"So is there anyone else here?"

"Sirius Black. This is his house. And some of the others stay here from time to time. I daresay you'll meet them all in due course. They're a good bunch once you get to know them."

"And what is it exactly that you do? The Order, I mean."

"Oh… well, it's difficult to explain, really. Mostly we're trying to stop You-Know-Who from gaining any more power. We kept an eye on Potter over the summer, tried to keep him safe. That was fun, I can tell you. Lots of hiding under bushes in cat form."

She smiled wryly.

"Sometimes I wonder if we're actually achieving very much at all," she admitted. "But I have to believe that it will make a difference. I _need_ to believe it. I still remember how awful it all was the first time."

For a moment her mind drifted back to darker times, times when they had not known from one day to the next who would be safe and who would fall victim to the whims of Voldemort and his supporters. And now it seemed it was happening all over again…

She swallowed the rest of her brandy in one gulp. Next to her, Ioan had opened the top of the cardboard box and was now holding his bed in the palm of his hand, marvelling at how it had shrunk to just a few inches in size.

"I hope there isn't too much damage," she said. "I've never shrunk that much furniture so rapidly before and there wasn't even enough time to wrap it up and pack it properly."

"It all looks fine to me," Ioan replied, putting his bed back down and peering carefully into the box.

"You won't know until you restore it all again." She sniffed. "I imagine you'll have to buy some new crockery at the very least."

"I think I can live with that," Ioan said. "And you're sure it's all right for me to stay here?"

"Of course. There's plenty of room. You can use the bedroom that I normally have when I stay here. I'll take you up now."

She stood up. Ioan put a hand on her arm.

"I can't thank you enough," he said shakily. "You saved my life. I've never been much good at duelling. I wouldn't have stood a chance on my own."

"Well, isn't that what friends do? Look after each other?"

Without waiting for a reply she turned back towards the staircase. The room was starting to spin a little and she was feeling increasingly nauseous from the rather potent combination of shock and alcohol. Her ribs ached tremendously and she had to keep her breathing shallow to avoid making it worse. She tackled the first flight of stairs with grim determination, focusing all her attention on the thought of her comfortable bed back at Hogwarts. All she had to do was show Ioan his room and then she could apparate straight back to the castle.

As they approached the second landing her stomach heaved violently. She could feel sweat starting to bead on her forehead and suddenly she knew what was about to happen. She stumbled hastily up the last few stairs and made it into the bathroom just in time to be comprehensively sick into the toilet bowl.

Tears of pain and humiliation stung her eyes as she retched. A moment later she felt Ioan's hand gently rub her back.

"Don't…" she whispered, not wanting him to see her in such an appalling state, but she was too weak to protest very much. He conjured her up a glass of water and she sipped it gratefully, rinsing the acid taste from her mouth and sinking back to sit against the bathtub.

Foolish, she thought, to drink so much. You know you have no head for alcohol.

It seemed as though her stomach was finally settling. She got to her feet rather shakily.

"The bedroom is just across here."

She lit the lamps with her wand. The room was small and rather bare but the bed was comfortable enough. He would be fine here until they could find him somewhere better to stay.

As she turned to leave, Ioan reached out his arms to her.

"Thank you for saving my life," he said, drawing her into a tight embrace and kissing her softly on the forehead.

When she looked up at him he had an intense expression on his face that she'd never seen before. He held her gaze but said nothing. For a moment the air seemed to thicken between them. But all Minerva could think about was how terrible she must look: sweaty and dishevelled and probably still smelling of vomit. When Ioan leaned towards her she turned away abruptly.

"I should get back to the castle," she said.

"You're not going to apparate at this time of night, surely?"

"I'll be fine," Minerva said.

"Oh really? And what happens if you splinch yourself? How are you going to explain that one to the High Inquisitor?"

She said nothing for a moment. He had a point, she admitted grudgingly, though she was slightly taken aback by the firmness of his tone. He was normally so easy going. She must look bad if Ioan was so determined not to let her go.

"Floo would be safer," he pointed out.

"Too traceable."

"Then stay here. There's plenty of space for both of us."

"All right," she conceded. "I'll rest here for a little while and see how I feel."

She lowered herself gingerly down onto the bed. It was a relief just to lie down. She breathed out slowly and felt some of the tension of the evening start to slide away. Her eyelids felt heavy.

I'll just close my eyes for a moment, she thought.

* * *

She woke suddenly, the room in darkness. For a moment she wasn't quite sure where she was. She listened carefully for a moment. The sound of slow breathing came from somewhere over to her left. She wasn't alone. A sudden panic seized her and she scrabbled in her robes for her wand. Her fingers closed over the smooth wooden handle.

"Lumos!"

The light cast a pattern of familiar shadows across the far wall and all at once she remembered.

Ioan was asleep on the other side of the bed, sprawled on his back under the threadbare sheets. He had obviously decided not to wake her but had taken the time to tuck a blanket over her so that she wouldn't get cold. For a few moments she watched him sleep, thankful that he was alive and safe. She shuddered when she remembered how close they had both come to losing their lives that night.

And then, afterwards… had Ioan really moved as if to kiss her? Perhaps she had imagined it in her hazy, semi-delirious state. Or perhaps it was just his way of dealing with all the emotion stirred up by their shared ordeal. Still, she would have plenty of time to worry over that one when she got home. What time was it? She glanced at her watch and was horrified to see the hour hand close to four. Too late to apparate home. If anyone saw her walking back from Hogsmeade at this hour in the morning on the same night a man had been murdered in her friend's home there would be some very difficult questions asked. No, she realised, she would have to stay here.

She stood her wand in an empty water glass on the bedside table so that it would light the room for her and then half-slid, half-clambered off the bed. Her ribs throbbed insistently and it hurt to take anything more than the most shallow of breaths. She pressed her hand against her side to try and stem the pain.

In the wardrobe she found what she was looking for: her old tartan carpetbag which she kept stashed at number twelve in case of emergencies, packed with a change of clothes, toiletries and a few other essentials. A quick rummage located her wash bag, hand towel and a silky emerald green nightgown which she had purchased in a moment of frivolity and considered too flimsy to be worth keeping at Hogwarts. A brief trip to the bathroom and she was back, padding silently over to the bed. She hesitated for a moment before undressing. She could go back and change in the bathroom but there was no telling who might be passing: Sirius was a terrible insomniac, and then there was that ghastly house elf. A brief glance at Ioan reassured her that he was fast asleep and, decision made, she peeled off her clothes as quickly as she could, folded them neatly into the bag and then pulled the nightgown over her head in one swift move. Its thin straps left her shoulders bare and she shivered in the pre-dawn chill. The hot summer months had precluded the need for a dressing gown. Now she made a mental note to bring one back on her next visit.

She turned back towards the bed. Ioan wouldn't mind sharing, surely? The large bed with its ornately carved headboard was easily big enough for them both. And she had been there first, after all. She peeled back the still-warm sheets and this time slipped beneath them. It took her several minutes to get comfortable but eventually she found that lying on her non-injured side was just about bearable. Ioan continued to slumber peacefully on the other side of bed.

Minerva extinguished her wand, closed her eyes and fell into a restless sleep.

* * *

She was woken in the morning by a soft knock at the door. The curtains had been drawn back and watery sunlight filled the room despite the small grimy windows. It wasn't really an improvement, though. In daylight the peeling wallpaper and cobwebs were impossible to ignore.

When she glanced over at the other side of the bed Ioan was no longer there. The box into which she'd packed his belongings stood open on a nearby chair, alongside a chest of drawers which he'd restored back to its original size.

"Come in," she called.

The bedroom door creaked open to reveal Ioan, cup and saucer in hand. "I didn't mean to wake you," he said sheepishly. "I just brought you up a cup of tea."

"Oh!" she said, alarmed to realise Ioan had already been downstairs. "I'm sorry. I meant to get up before you so that I could explain to Sirius what was going on."

"No need," Ioan said. "I've already introduced myself. He seems like a nice chap. Not sure about that house elf though."

Minerva had a fairly good idea what Kreacher's reaction to the arrival of yet another muggle-born would have been.

"I meant to warn you about him," she said. "He came with the house, I'm afraid."

Ioan shrugged. "Well, I'll let you have some privacy," he said a little awkwardly.

Once Ioan had gone she washed and dressed as quickly as she could. She still felt rather nauseous, though she suspected that had as much to do with the brandy she'd consumed as it did with the physical and emotional trauma of the night before. The rest had done nothing for the pain in her side though, which if anything felt worse now.

Downstairs in the kitchen she found Ioan eating breakfast with Sirius and Remus Lupin.

"Minerva!" Sirius greeted her with a mischievous glint in his eye. "If I'd known you were looking for a man to share your bed with I would gladly have volunteered myself!"

Minerva ignored him, knowing better than to rise to the bait. She was glad to see Ioan settling in so well. If the price for that meant being the butt of Sirius Black's jokes then so be it. She was also pleased to see Remus, a man who knew exactly what it felt like to be the outsider. Between Sirius' humour and the considered kindness of Remus she knew she would be leaving Ioan in safe hands. The best thing she could do now was to go back to Hogwarts: Dumbledore would be wanting a report on the previous night's events and Poppy Pomfrey was known for both her medical skills and her discretion. Satisfied that Ioan was safe, Minerva bade them all a polite farewell and left.

* * *

"Three broken ribs and a lot of bruising. I'm not surprised you're in pain. What on earth have you been doing?"

"I fell down some stairs."

Poppy Pomfrey raised her eyebrows but said nothing. A quick wave of her wand took care of the rib fractures. Instantly Minerva's pain subsided to a bearable level and she breathed a deep sigh of relief, before breaking into a racking cough. A moment later Poppy was forcing a spoonful of Pepper-Up potion on her despite her protests.

"Chest infection and rib injuries go hand in hand, Minerva!" she said firmly. "Better a dose of potion now than three weeks off with pneumonia!"

All of the staff dreaded the Pepper-Up potion. Despite its effectiveness, the unfortunate side effect of walking around with steam coming out of ones ears for several hours afterwards was embarrassing to say the least.

"I should warn you," Poppy continued, "that Dolores Umbridge has me filling in forms for every person seen in the hospital wing. Apparently she wants to audit all injuries and accidents to see whether we're exceeding Ministry prescribed limits."

"Any chance we could keep this one off the books?"

Poppy shook her head. "Sorry," she said. "More than my job's worth right now."

* * *

Monday morning's Daily Prophet confirmed Minerva's worst fears. "_AUROR MURDERED IN TINWORTH!_" screamed the headline. Below it Angus Murphy's pudgy face glowered unpleasantly at her, alongside a rather more flattering shot of Ioan.

"_Ministry officials confirmed today that they are currently looking for Dr Ioan Chant in conjunction with this horrific attack. Dr Chant, 37, an employee of the Institute for Magical Research, was being investigated by the Ministry on suspicion of the illegal sale of research secrets to dark wizards or witches unknown. It is believed that he turned violent after being confronted by Auror Murphy with evidence of his crimes. A full scale search for Dr Chant is now under way. He is believed to be extremely dangerous and should not be approached under any circumstances."_

Minerva threw the newspaper aside in disgust. She had hoped that perhaps she might have overreacted but no, her fears had been entirely justified. It seemed that Cornelius Fudge was prepared to go to any extreme necessary rather than face the truth. Only last month the Prophet had been holding Ioan up as a shining example of magical achievement! There had been no mention of selling research secrets then.

At lunchtime she received another ghastly pink note from Dolores Umbridge asking her to attend her office immediately after dinner. There was no mention of the reason for this but Minerva had a fairly good idea of what Dolores wanted to discuss.

It was the first time she had visited the office since Dolores had been appointed and she was horrified to see the change in décor. She was used to seeing the room filled with Dark creatures in tanks, detection instruments, piles of books and even portraits of Gilderoy Lockhart but somehow none of those had been quite so disturbing as row upon row of mewling kittens with bows around their necks.

"Now Minerva," Dolores began. "I would like you to tell me why you chose not to attend the disciplinary meeting last Friday."

Thankfully Albus had already briefed Minerva on the excuse he had given for her.

"My mother was taken ill very suddenly," she said evenly. "I received an urgent message from my brother asking me to attend. The Headmaster gave his permission for me to go immediately."

The lie made her uncomfortable but she reminded herself it was necessary in order to protect both herself and Ioan.

"It is not Dumbledore's place to excuse you from a meeting arranged by the High Inquisitor!" Dolores snapped.

"I apologise. I assure you that, had there been time, I would have spoken to you personally."

"Hmmm. Well, there's also the matter of your health."

"My health?"

Dolores extracted a sheet of parchment from her desk drawer.

"Yes," she said. "I gather you returned to the castle on Saturday morning with an injury. Nurse Pomfrey states here that she treated you for three broken ribs following a fall."

"That's correct."

"Well I'm afraid I'm going to need a little more information than that, my dear! Where _exactly_ did you fall?"

"I slipped on the steps on the path leading up to my mother's house. It was wet from the rain."

Dolores glared suspiciously at Minerva for a few long moments. Minerva met her gaze steadily, determined not to show any weakness that might suggest she wasn't being entirely honest with the High Inquisitor. Apparently satisfied, Dolores placed her quill down and filed the offending form away.

"It is recumbent on all staff to ensure they remain healthy and fit for work," she said. "I trust you will take more care in future."

She dismissed Minerva with an abrupt wave of her hand.

It was only as she left the office that Minerva realised she hadn't even asked her how her mother was.

* * *

On the Wednesday evening, satisfied that Dolores had lost interest, she apparated back to number twelve Grimmauld Place half an hour before the Order meeting started to see how Ioan was settling in. She found Sirius, Tonks and several other Order members playing poker with Mundungus in the kitchen. There was, however, no sign of Ioan.

She eventually found him upstairs in the bedroom, nose buried in a book. He had restored a few more pieces of furniture to make the room more comfortable: the armchair in which he was sitting, along with a side table and a lamp.

"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine." He shrugged. "Just fancied some peace and quiet. I'm not used to being in a noisy house like this all the time. Here, I'll get you a seat."

She waved him back down and sat on the bed instead.

"What are you reading?"

"'Frenchman's Creek'. I thought I ought to give it a try, seeing as you like so much."

"Oh," she said, rather touched that he cared about what she liked. She was about to ask him what he thought of it when it suddenly occurred to her that the Black family library was unlikely to keep any stock of muggle romance novels. But when she asked Ioan where it had come from he looked instantly sheepish.

"I went out," he admitted. "Not to Diagon Alley or anything. Just to the muggle shops."

"You did _what_?!" Minerva was horrified. "The entire wizarding world thinks you're a violent murderer! Your photo has been on the cover of the Daily Prophet for the last three days in a row! If anyone had seen you…"

She buried her face in her hands in despair.

"Nobody saw me," he protested.

"That's not the point!" she snapped, jumping to her feet. "What if you'd been caught? We're all doing everything we can to keep you safe! How could you be so… so _stupid_!"

"Look, you don't know what it's like being stuck here all the time. This house is the most depressing place I've ever been in my life! I can't get any work done because there's people clattering in and out all day long, that bloody house elf follows me around hissing abuse at me all the time and I have to deal with the fact that all of my former friends and colleagues think I murdered an innocent man! I just needed to get away for a little while, that's all!"

She gaped at him. She'd never seen him get angry before and she was completely taken aback. He was on his feet now too and, since he was slightly taller than her, she'd lost the height advantage she usually had.

"I'm not stupid, Minerva," he said more gently. "I wore Moody's invisibility cloak until I was well away from Grimmauld Place and even then I was disguised."

"You're right," she said, feeling suddenly foolish for overreacting. "I forget how difficult it must be for you here."

"That's all right. I'm grateful that you care so much about me."

"I shouldn't have shouted at you like that though. It's not my place to tell you what to do. I find it hard to stop being a teacher sometimes, that's all. I'm sorry."

Ioan smiled. "Friends?"

"Friends," she affirmed, hugging him awkwardly. "Though once you've had the pleasure of sitting through one of our meetings you may start to wish you'd never been friends with me at all!"

* * *

The Order meeting was relatively uneventful, although Molly Weasley took Minerva aside afterwards to invite her to the Burrow on Saturday for a birthday dinner. Secretly Minerva was rather dismayed. She never liked any fuss and had hoped the occasion would pass unnoticed. But Molly had explained that she was hoping a nice meal might boost everyone's spirits, and that she had invited Ioan as well in the hope that it might help him feel a bit more welcome. There was no getting out of it. Minerva accepted the invitation as gracefully as she could.

But when Saturday evening finally arrived, after a full day of marking homework and supervising detentions Minerva found she was quite looking forward to an evening out. The warm cosiness of the Burrow made a nice change from dinner in the Great Hall, after all.

Arthur was there to greet her at the door when she knocked after apparating neatly into the yard. She knew that many people apparated directly into each other's homes these days but to her it seemed rather rude to suddenly arrive unannounced in the middle of the room.

"Minerva! Welcome, dear. And happy birthday!"

He ushered her inside. Molly was in the living room along with Hestia, Dedalus and Tonks, all of whom greeted her enthusiastically. The delicious smell of Molly's cooking wafted through from the kitchen, followed by a stray hen clucking excitedly.

"Oh, _Arthur_! He's left the door open _again_!"

Molly rushed back to shoo the offending fowl back out into the yard. A few minutes later there was a flash of green flame and Remus was stepping out of the hearth, closely followed by Ioan.

"Happy Birthday," Ioan said, kissing her on the cheek and then handing her a parcel wrapped in sparkly gold tissue paper. She unwrapped it to reveal a small paperback book.

"'The Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galaxy'" she read aloud.

"My favourite book. Thought you might like it too."

She thanked him profusely, touched by the gift and feeling even guiltier for shouting at him about leaving Grimmauld Place the previous week. It hadn't occurred to her that he might have gone out to get a birthday present for her.

Dinner was roast chicken with rosemary and lemon. They all squeezed around the wooden kitchen table with its mismatched chairs. Though the kitchen at the Burrow was small it was still vastly more pleasant that the malevolent gloom of number twelve Grimmauld Place. Minerva had hoped to sit next to Ioan but he was still being monopolised by Arthur, who had shepherded him into a seat at the other end of the table and was keen to know more about how lightbulbs worked. Not that Ioan seemed to mind; Minerva guessed he was grateful to have a fellow Muggle enthusiast to talk to now that he was firmly closeted in the wizarding world.

"Anyone sitting here?"

She glanced round to see Remus smiling next to her.

"Not at all. Please…"

She was very fond of Remus Lupin and had been since the year they had spent teaching together at Hogwarts. She'd been a little dubious when his appointment as Defence Against the Dark Arts professor had first been announced but he'd soon proved to be a dedicated and enthusiastic member of the faculty, not to mention a much-needed mentor to Harry Potter. She'd soon fallen into the habit of inviting him up to her rooms once or twice a week, where they would spend the evening marking their respective homework in front of the fire, occasionally sharing anecdotes or reliving their own experiences as Hogwarts students. For a while it had seemed as if romance would blossom between them – certainly several of their colleagues erroneously believed that it had – and so it might have done had Minerva's heart not stubbornly refused to let go of a certain tall research wizard who had once taken her out for a drink, and whose letters she kept tucked away in the drawer of her bedside cabinet like a guilty teenage crush. But if Remus had been disappointed then he had been too much of a gentleman to ever let it show.

For a while after he'd left Minerva had wondered if perhaps she had made a terrible mistake. Was she a fool for holding a torch for a man she barely knew when a perfectly decent one was right there in front of her? But looking at Ioan now she knew she had done the right thing. The feelings she had for him were incomparable to anything she might once have felt Remus, or anyone else for that matter. To settle for anything less would be to set herself up for a lifetime of questioning and regret. And Remus was a kind and generous man. He deserved a woman who loved him wholeheartedly, not one who was secretly yearning for someone else.

"He seems very nice," Remus said, noticing her looking at Ioan.

"We're just friends."

"That's a shame."

She elbowed him in the ribs.

"I'm serious!" he protested, but tactfully let the matter drop.

Arthur finally ceased his conversation with Ioan when he noticed Molly glaring fiercely at him and mouthing "drinks!". Apologising to his guests, he retrieved a couple of bottles from the fridge and served them all a generous measure of sparkling wine whilst his wife finished dishing out the vegetables.

When everyone had been served he raised his glass in a toast.

"To Minerva. Happy Birthday!"

"Happy Birthday!"

Minerva blushed and acknowledged them with a polite nod.

"Thank you," she murmured. "And thank you Molly and Arthur for kindly inviting us all. Now I suggest we eat before this delicious meal gets cold!"

* * *

As the evening wore on, Minerva tried to get Ioan to one side so that she could talk to him properly. Unfortunately every time she got close to him it seemed that someone else was waiting to wish her a happy birthday, ask her about the incident in Tinworth or find out what it was like working with Umbridge all the time. Though Minerva was not normally one to speak about work matters outside of Hogwarts she felt that on this particular occasion and amongst Order members it would be permissible. And so she filled her friends on all the horrors of the High Inquisitor's regime, whilst out of the corner of her eye she watched for an opportunity to approach Ioan. But soon it was getting late. Finally giving up, she thanked Molly and Arthur for their hospitality and politely excused herself. To her surprise, though, Ioan stopped her at the door.

"I'll walk outside with you. I need to tell you something."

Out in the yard the only sound was the soft rustle of the wind through the long grass and the occasional contented cluck of a chicken. Ioan walked with her to edge of the Weasley's yard, overlooking the sweep of the meadows beyond.

"I'm moving out of number twelve," he told her. "I've bought a little cottage. It's back home in Wales, on the edge of a muggle village not far from where my parents live."

"Oh," Minerva said, slightly taken aback by this completely unexpected news.

"It's for the best," he continued. "The most useful thing I can do for the Order right now is keep working on the time turner and I can't do that there. It's just so gloomy and dark, and there's too many distractions."

"But… Wales? I mean, will you be safe?"

"Oh, don't worry. I've got every protection on it I could think of, even a Fidelius charm. Arthur is the secret keeper."

"I would have been your secret keeper," Minerva said, trying to keep the hurt out of her voice.

"I didn't like to bother you. You've done so much for me already. Besides, it was the only way I could stop him asking endless questions about how compact discs work and what a lawn mower does."

He smiled at her and she did her best to smile back, though her mind was in turmoil. Too many distractions, he'd said. Was she a distraction? Was he trying to tell her something by moving out like this? Why hadn't he told her before? And why would he pick a man he had known for barely a week as his secret keeper instead of her?

"You'll come and visit, won't you?" Ioan said, oblivious to her discomfort. "I mean, once I've settled in."

"I expect so. Ioan, I really ought to get home."

"Of course. Goodnight then."

"Goodnight."

She apparated away before he could give her his customary farewell embrace. It was childish, she knew, but she couldn't help it.

It was only later, lying in her comfortable bed in Gryffindor Tower, that it occurred to her that Ioan's move was probably a good thing. At least they would be able to spend time together undisturbed by the moans of Mrs Black or the malevolent mutterings of the house elf, and without her every visit being observed by Sirius and the rest of the Order.

Feeling more positive, she picked up the book he had given her from her lap, settled back against her pillows and began to read.


	6. Chapter Five

Thank you for all the lovely reviews. I'm sorry this update has taken so long but this chapter was really important to me to get right. But I do think it's rather fitting to be posting it on Minerva's birthday :)

* * *

Chapter 5

* * *

The sharp tap of Minerva's heels echoed along the quiet corridors of Hogwarts as she swept around a corner and marched on up the staircase back towards her rooms. Ten past eight on Friday evening and Dolores Umbridge's disciplinary review meeting had only just finished. In the early weeks the meeting had often continued until nearly ten o'clock, with heated debates taking place over everything from the length of detentions to the appropriate amount of house points to dock for late homework. But the staff were fast learners and had soon realised the best way to keep the meeting short was to say as little as possible: no arguments, no comments, no questions. Not only did this ensure they could still make a reasonably early getaway from the castle but it also had the added benefit of completely infuriating Dolores.

It had been a busy week for Minerva all round, not least because she had been visited by Amelia Bones herself, along with two other Ministry officials, to answer questions regarding the disappearance of the alleged Auror murderer Dr Ioan Chant. Thankfully the Ministry appeared to be unaware of Minerva's presence in Tinworth on the night concerned. Instead they had wanted to know about her friendship with Ioan, if she had had any reason to be suspicious of his behaviour and if she knew where he might be hiding. Amelia was polite and respectful in her interrogation and had even apologised to Minerva for taking up her valuable time.

If she only knew, Minerva thought.

She was still furious about the way the Ministry were treating Ioan and had found it hard to play down the significance of their friendship in the face of Amelia's questions. But leaping to his defence would only have given them reason to suspect her. Ultimately the best thing she could do for him was to distance herself as much as possible.

In public, at any rate. Privately, though…

She let herself into her rooms. Her eyes were drawn immediately to the mantelpiece where stood a handwritten card from the murder suspect himself inviting her to a housewarming party that very night, complete with directions to his new cottage. It had arrived by owl disguised as a brochure for McKenzie & Lowe, a prestigious watch company. After only a brief moment of confusion Minerva had made the connection and, sure enough, a tap of her wand had caused the catalogue to transform back into the original invitation. She had been rather relieved to hear from Ioan, having been slightly afraid that he would disappear into the depths of Wales, get lost in his research and never be seen or heard from again. It had been unfortunate that he'd chosen a Friday evening for his party but she'd sent his owl back with a promise to be there just as soon as she could.

She opened her wardrobe and considered what to wear. There was a smart black dress that she'd worn for Filius' fiftieth birthday party the previous year. It was sensible, conservative and much the sort of thing Minerva would normally wear. She studied it critically for a few moments. Of course, she mused, one could also describe it as rather boring.

Not like the other gown…

She'd been down to Hogsmeade earlier in the week for a new quill and had impulsively stopped off in Gladrags as she was passing. This dress was a deep ruby red, made from a soft clingy fabric that hugged the curves of her body she normally sought to hide and flattered her trim waist and slender legs. It was a huge departure from her normal style but as she'd stepped out of the changing room both of the shop assistants had done a double take. "You _have_ to buy it," the younger one had said. "Honestly, you look _amazing_!". She'd been bowled over by their flattery. It was expensive, a little extravagant perhaps, but then how often did she ever treat herself to anything nice?

Now she lifted it off its hanger, looked at it again and wondered if she was being silly. She didn't want to look overdressed. But… it _was_ a party, after all.

Five minutes later she was dressed and standing in front of the mirror frowning critically at her reflection. The dress _did _look rather nice, she thought. But was it too short? Too low at the neck? She picked up her wand and then hesitated. Transfiguring clothing was never a good idea unless you knew what you were doing. It was much like cutting your hair: apparently simple but best left to the experts. The wrong adjustment would ruin the line and the drape of the fabric. No, she would just have to wear it the way it was.

Her hair wasn't right though. Minerva didn't know much about fashion but she was fairly sure that a woman wearing a dress like this ought not to have her hair scraped back into a tight bun. She pulled out the pins that held it back so rigidly and brushed it out, wondering what to do with it instead. It fell to her shoulders, curling gently from its tight imprisonment. Impulsively she left it loose and then added a light touch of make-up.

There, she thought. At least now I actually look like someone going to a party.

She turned away from the mirror before she could dither any longer and picked up her bag and muggle overcoat. It was almost half-past eight. If she hurried she wouldn't be too late.

On her way out she almost collided with Pomona Sprout who was stood outside her door, fist poised to knock.

There was a moment's stunned silence as the two witches faced each other. Pomona's eyebrows almost disappeared into her mass of flyaway hair as she took in Minerva's appearance.

"And now I know why you shot out of that meeting as if half a dozen hippogriffs were chasing you."

"It's not what you think," Minerva said hastily, pulling on her coat. "It's a party. At a friend's house. That's all."

"How disappointing. I thought you might be all dressed up for a better reason than that."

"I am not… yes, all right. Fine. Do I…" she hesitated. "Do I look all right?"

"You look fabulous," Pomona said emphatically. "Whoever he is, he'll have your knickers down before dessert!"

Minerva felt her cheeks flame. "I don't know what you mean," she muttered without much conviction.

Pomona cackled wickedly. "I'm sure you don't. Well don't keep him in waiting on my account. Go!"

Minerva wrapped her coat tightly around herself and made her way downstairs, taking care to follow the quietest staircases and corridors to minimise the chance of being seen by her students since the fifth, six and seventh years were still allowed to be out of their houses this late. It certainly wouldn't do for Professor McGonagall to be seen having any sort of personal life, nor to be the subject of idle gossip. It was bad enough that she'd been caught by Pomona, though at least her friend could be trusted to keep it to herself.

As she hastened down the front steps of the castle she wondered who else Ioan had invited. Arthur and Molly, probably. Sirius, too, since he'd provided Ioan with a safe haven at number twelve Grimmauld Place until he'd managed to make his own arrangements. Remus? Hopefully. At least then she'd have someone to talk to whilst Ioan was busy playing the generous host. Throwing a party seemed to her to be a rather foolish and risky act for a man who was currently the subject of a full scale Ministry manhunt. But, she reminded herself, Ioan was an adult and therefore allowed to make his own choices. As a teacher Minerva was used to telling people what to do, and it wasn't always easy to break that habit when it came to her friends. She had already scolded Ioan once before for making what she considered to be an unwise decision. Thankfully he had taken it with good grace, but it still wasn't a mistake she wanted to repeat.

She took one last glance at the instructions Ioan had given her, took a deep breath and turned on her heel.

* * *

Minerva found herself standing in the middle of a narrow country lane that curved upwards and away. One side was thickly wooded. On the other side a low dry stone wall was all that stood between the lane and a steep slope down to the bottom of the valley where a small stream meandered its way along. The sky was thick with clouds and the first fat drops of rain were just beginning to fall. With a quick swish of her wand a silver cat shot off through the trees.

A few minutes later Ioan himself came hurrying down the hill. At the sight of him Minerva felt the familiar twist of excitement in her belly but tried to ignore it. He was looking smarter than she'd ever seen him look before: he'd finally had a haircut and was wearing crisply ironed black trousers and a matching black shirt, open at the collar. He'd even polished his shoes. She was rather relieved that she would not be the only one there who had made a particular effort with her appearance.

"Minerva!" he said with obvious pleasure. "You made it!"

"Yes. I'm so sorry for being late."

"Not at all. You haven't had dinner, have you?"

"No, your card said there would be food."

"Yes. Good. Just checking." He gestured up the lane. "It's just around the corner. Can't apparate right in, I'm afraid. Security measure."

"I'm glad to hear it," Minerva said with a wry smile. "Lead the way."

* * *

Ioan's cottage was perched high up on the clifftop giving a sweeping view of the village below, and beyond that the bay. The sea was churned grey by the winter wind and the rain was falling heavily now but in the summer she imagined it would be quite spectacular.

Inside the furnishings that she recognised from Tinworth had been rearranged into their new home. The oak beamed ceilings were lower than those of his Cornish home and the rooms slightly small but the overall effect was cosy rather than cramped.

"It's not much but it'll do."

"It's lovely," Minerva said with feeling, shrugging off her overcoat. "And you've made it look so homely."

"Well that's thanks to you really. Shrinking all my furniture and stuffing it in a cardboard box, well I don't think it would even have occurred to me to do that myself. I would have lost everything."

"It was nothing. You get very good at shrinking spells when you're trying to perfect an animagus form that's much smaller than you."

He came over to take her coat and kissed her cheek. "You look lovely," he said quietly. "Really pretty. I like your dress."

He smelt of fresh soap and aftershave and had obviously just showered. Visions of a shirtless Ioan flashed briefly in her mind. Minerva felt herself blushing furiously and turned away. She was rather surprised to find no sign of any other guests in the living room. She'd anticipated that her lateness would make her the last to arrive. Instead it seemed she was the first.

"Who else is coming?" she asked curiously.

"Nobody else. Just you."

She turned to face him in surprise.

"But I thought… your card said a party!"

"Oh, that was just a little joke. Although it _is_ a party. It's just that you're the only guest."

"I don't understand."

"You're the only person I really want to see. So I didn't bother inviting anyone else." He smiled disarmingly. "Here, come and see."

She followed him through into the dining room and then stopped dead. In front of her was a table covered in a crisp white cloth and laid for two. Candles flickered on the table and the sideboard. In the background music played quietly. The scent of food drifted through from the kitchen.

It was like something out of a dream.

"This… this is for me?" she faltered, unable to believe what she was seeing.

"Yes," he said simply and pulled out a chair for her. "By the way," he said, "you were right about the crockery."

Minerva sank weakly into her chair, feeling complete blindsided and struggling to gather her thoughts. Truth be told she had rather been hoping to see him alone. They hadn't really had any sort of proper conversation since the night he had been attacked in Tinworth and Minerva still felt as though there was more to be said, though exactly what that was she didn't know. But she hadn't been expecting to have to deal with any of that tonight. She'd been prepared for a party, for undemanding small talk, for a room full of people. Certainly not this.

Ioan was oblivious to her turmoil. "Dinner will be about another five minutes," he said, pouring them both a glass of wine and then sitting down opposite her.

"To new beginnings!" he said, raising his glass.

She met his eyes and smiled back, trying to appear calm. Ioan seemed completely unflustered, his demeanour much the same as if they'd been at an Order meeting surrounded by others. Was the chemistry she felt between them really just in her head? It couldn't be… could it?

Still, after almost twenty years of teaching Minerva was a master at putting on a professional front.

"So," she said, pulling herself together magnificently. "Do you think you'll be happy here?"

"Oh, most definitely! I can't tell you how good it is to be back in a muggle house again. I've missed my stereo. I tell you, if there's one thing muggles do better than wizards any day it's music."

"It's a nice house," Minerva agreed. "I'm amazed you found it so quickly."

"Well, it's a bit remote for muggles," Ioan said. "You wouldn't be able to drive a car up that lane in the winter. And it needed a lot of work doing. Structurally unsound, I think the estate agent said."

"It looks perfectly intact to me," Minerva said, and then the penny dropped. "Oh. Magic."

Ioan, to his credit, looked a little embarrassed. "Yes. But I left the outside alone, so on the off chance anyone ventures up here they shouldn't notice any difference." He checked his watch and then politely excused himself. A few moments later he was back with his arms full of dishes.

"Lamb in redcurrant sauce with new potatoes and greens," he said, pride evident in his voice as he set the plates down. Minerva sniffed appreciatively, the smell of the delicious food reminding her just how long it had been since she'd last eaten. Nerves had suppressed her appetite for most of the evening but now she was starting to relax a little and her hunger was back with a vengeance. She tucked in eagerly.

"This is amazing," she told him between mouthfuls. "I didn't realise you could cook!"

"My mother taught me. I think she was hoping it would help me find a nice girl to settle down with."

"Hard to see why it didn't."

He looked embarrassed for a moment. "Well I never met that many women working at the Institute. And when I did, I could never really talk to any of them. I could never find anything in common. I felt like I was making polite conversation all the time and it was exhausting. Not like with you."

He smiled at her and she felt another tingle of electricity run through her body. The atmosphere between them felt subtly different. In Tinworth they had been relaxed with each other, the conversation flowing easily. Now however there was a subtle tension in the air, not a hostile one by any means, but a sense that something significant had taken place, that their relationship had somehow shifted gears in a way that could not easily be defined. They were both tentative, careful and cautious with each other as they tried to feel their way through this uncertain time. It seemed as if they were playing a game with each other, poised on the edge of something, waiting to see who would take the first step across the line.

"I often feel like I'm caught between two worlds," Ioan said. "You know, muggle and magical. I mean, most muggles don't know anything about us, and most wizards don't want to know anything about _them_. But I was raised as a muggle and I'm not ashamed of that. Muggles have done amazing things! We should be looking at what we could learn from them, not treating them as some sort of inferior race."

"Try having a witch for a mother and a muggle for a father. Muggles definitely weren't the inferior race in our household."

"Really? With three magical children? That must have been hard."

"It was the three magical children that gave the game away. I don't believe my father had any idea my mother was a witch until I was born. He was mortified when he found out. I don't think he ever really came to terms with it either." She smiled sadly at the memories. "He was a minister, as you know. To him, strange behaviour was a sign of the devil."

"Oh dear."

"Once we were all in school and learned to control our magic things got a lot easier at home. He relaxed a bit more then and stopped worrying all the time about us fitting in."

Ioan gave a wry laugh. "I've never really been one for fitting in. I was the strange kid in the village that everyone was slightly nervous of. And then at Hogwarts I was the strange kid reading car manuals and Melody Maker. I've got used to feeling like I don't really belong anywhere, like I'm some kind of alien. Most of the time it doesn't bother me. But lately, with you… I feel like finally I have someone that I can talk to without having to try and sound… well, _normal_. I feel like you understand me."

"I'm glad," Minerva said gently.

"It's been… well, it's been wonderful, as a matter of fact."

He smiled and covered her hand with his, punctuating his sentence with a gentle squeeze.

"My first boyfriend was a muggle," she said thoughtfully, trying to ignore the jolt that ran through her when he touched her. "Actually my fiancé. But I ended it to take a job with the Ministry. I've lived in the magical world ever since but I do remember how hard it was trying to choose between a muggle life and a magical one."

Ioan regarded her solemnly and took a long sip of his wine.

"Do you ever wish you'd chosen differently?"

Minerva considered this. "No," she said eventually. "I don't think I would ever have been happy as a farmer's wife."

"A farmer's wife?" Ioan smiled. "I'm trying to imagine you on a farm, shooing cows out of the garden, baking apple pie, with about four children."

She laughed. "Exactly. I am a little sorry that I never had children, though. I think I would have liked to have been a mother."

"And what about him? Do you miss him?"

"Dougal? No. I was heartbroken for about a year afterwards. I thought he was the love of my life." She smiled ruefully. "But I was only eighteen. I'm sure if I met him now we wouldn't have a thing in common."

She took another sip of her wine.

"This is only the second time I've ever told anyone about this, you know."

"Really?"

She nodded. "Not even my parents knew."

"I'm glad you felt you could tell me," Ioan said sincerely.

"It's lovely to finally have a chance to talk to you properly" Minerva replied, taking a sip of her wine. "I have to admit I was a bit dubious when you told me you were moving out but now I can see why."

There was a brief silence from Ioan. When she glanced over she could see him studying the tablecloth intently, apparently wrestling with himself. Eventually he looked up.

"You know," he said, "it was because of you that I wanted to leave."

"Me?" Her voice came out as more of a horrified squeak than the casual enquiry she'd intended. She felt a sudden sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. Of all the things she'd been expecting him to say, that possibility hadn't crossed her mind. To begin with she'd been afraid that she was the reason for his departure from Grimmauld Place but she'd subsequently put that down to paranoia. It wasn't like she had even visited him there that often. Had she been wrong after all?

"Yes! Can you imagine doing this -" he gestured at the table "- there? I mean, you couldn't even have a simple conversation without someone barging in to offer you a cup of tea, or wanting to discuss the minutes of the last meeting, or trying to sell you knock-off cauldrons!"

"I don't understand," she said. "If you left because you didn't want to see me then why invite me here tonight?"

"No, that's just it! I do want to see you. I want to see you and be able to talk to you properly without being interrupted all the time. You know, like we used to before."

"Oh."

She still wasn't quite sure exactly what it was he was trying to tell her. Was this his way of letting her down gently? Telling her that he only wanted friendship?

Ioan saw the expression on her face and sighed. "I'm not doing very well at this, am I?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know… this. Us." He cleared his throat loudly. "I don't want you to feel like this is just some cheap attempt to seduce you."

"Oh." Minerva struggled to hide her disappointment. "Well," she said stiffly, "I can assure you that you need not feel obliged to seduce me in any manner, cheap or otherwise."

This did not achieve the desired response. Ioan merely smiled and drained the last of his wine.

"Obliged? Minerva, I can't help but think that any man making an unwanted advance on you would be lucky to escape with all four limbs intact, to say nothing of his dignity."

Minerva sniffed loudly and did her best to feign indifference as Ioan gathered up the empty dishes and took them through to the kitchen.

"Am I that much of an ogre?" she asked somewhat plaintively as she trailed behind him. He stacked the dishes beside the sink and waved his wand. Instantly the sink filled with hot soapy water and the dishes jumped in one by one to be washed.

"You're not an ogre," he said, turning to face her. "You are strong and brave and passionate and you know exactly what you want. But I need you to tell me."

"Tell you what?"

Ioan gazed steadily at her, that serious, searching look that she'd seen only once before: that night in Grimmauld Place. She held her breath without even realising it, so focused was she on trying to memorise that expression, to understand what it meant. The last time he had looked at her like this he'd almost kissed her.

Almost…

He lifted his hand and gently cupped her face. "_Is_ this an unwanted advance?" he said softly.

Time froze.

Stunned into silence, Minerva could only gape at him as he stroked her cheek with his thumb, tracing soft circles on her skin.

She breathed in his familiar scent as he leaned slowly towards her: faint woody aftershave with undertones of soap and ink. She felt as though she was paralysed: unable to move, unable to respond, unable to do anything except watch him move closer. His other hand curved around her waist, gently drawing her towards him as he tilted his head down, lips slightly parted.

Oh, she thought. At last…

A moment later his mouth was on hers and she surrendered immediately to the firm press of his lips, allowing the kiss to grow deeper and more intimate with every passing second. Her arms found their way around him without her knowing it, her hands grasping at his back as the kiss stole her breath away and made her whole body tingle and feel weak. Her legs no longer seemed strong enough to hold her up and she leaned into him hungrily.

Yes… oh, yes…

It was everything she had wanted for so long, everything she had dreamed of. His kisses were tender but beneath that she could sense his urgency and a feeling of wildness that matched her own.

When they finally broke apart he smiled a little shyly at her. "Dessert? That's not a euphemism," he added hastily. "I've got an apple and blackberry crumble here that my mother made."

"Will it keep until tomorrow?"

"Oh, yes. I've set up a stasis field in the fridge so technically anything I put in there should keep forever. It even works for frozen food. By eliminating the temporal component of -"

He broke off, seeing her raised eyebrows.

"Sorry. I mean, yes, it will keep until tomorrow. Would you like another drink? I think there's a little bit of wine left in the bottle."

"That would be lovely."

As he prepared the drinks she wandered back through into the living room and took a seat on the sofa, curling her legs beneath her. She still couldn't believe that this was real. She'd waited so long for this and had all but given up hope that it would happen. And now, out of nowhere, this. She felt as though she had stumbled into a dream of her own making, as though somewhere out there the real Minerva was chatting to her fellow Order members and darting the occasional longing look at Ioan as he mingled politely with his guests.

Ioan came in with a glass of wine and a tumbler of whisky for himself. He set the drinks down on the coffee table and joined her on the sofa. They smiled shyly at each other for a moment and then shared a slow, lingering kiss before settling into a more comfortable embrace. He tasted of hot dry whisky and sweet redcurrants. The attraction it seemed they had both been trying to hold back was bursting out full force. She couldn't get enough of him.

"Are you going to dismember me now?" he murmured in her ear in between planting soft kisses along the length of her collar bone.

"Only if you stop," she said breathlessly.

She shifted position again so that she was almost lying beneath him. The weight of his hips on hers sent electricity fizzing through her body. She could feel him through his trousers, already hard against her hip. Her dress had ridden dangerously high but she didn't care. She felt rebellious, dangerous. Death had loomed over her only a few short weeks ago. There wasn't much in her life that Minerva McGonagall regretted but not being here, not doing what she felt sure they were about to do… well, that might just make the list.

Ioan slid his free hand up her thigh to finger the hem of her dress.

"Minerva," he said hoarsely. "Will you let me take you to bed?"

It was such an absurdly polite request that she almost laughed. She would have happily let him tear her dress off and take her right there on the sofa like a horny teenager, such was the intensity of her desire. But Ioan, dear sweet Ioan… always the gentleman, of course he would want to do things properly.

She nodded acquiescence and he got up from the sofa, drawing her with him. A quick wave of his wand extinguished the candles and their drinks were left forgotten on the coffee table as he led her upstairs to his bedroom.

It was a charming room, tucked under the sloping eaves of the cottage. The furniture was simple, chosen for function rather than style. Books were stacked rather lopsidedly on the bedside table and on the floor nearby. A chest of drawers she recognised from when he had had it in number twelve Grimmauld Place stood against the far wall, next to a wardrobe. Ioan had eschewed the electric lights for yet more candles and their flickering light brought a warm and welcoming glow to the room.

The weather had worsened since her arrival. A storm was blowing in from the sea, whistling across the rooftop and drumming the rain hard against the window panes. Ioan closed the curtains, firmly shutting the night out, and turned back to face her.

"We don't have to do this now, you know," he said. "I wouldn't mind if you wanted to wait."

"Oh no," she said firmly. "I nearly lost you once already. I'm not taking any chances now."

She could see from the relief in his expression that he felt exactly the same way.

"You really do look amazing, you know," he murmured.

She smiled and stepped into his embrace, parting her lips eagerly when he kissed her, hungry for more. When he lowered his hand to gently squeeze her breast she gasped with excitement. They fell together onto his bed. It wasn't long before her beautiful red dress was a crumpled heap on the floor, before his shirt had joined it, before her hands were tugging at his trousers, before he was sliding her knickers down.

Naked and exposed she felt suddenly anxious again. Ioan was younger than her and most likely more experienced at this sort of thing. She didn't want to let him down or leave him disappointed. She'd kept herself in shape but she wasn't twenty any more. Would he still want her if he knew how long she had been single, how awkward she felt? Would he still want to kiss her and touch her now that he had seen what she looked like without her clothes?

Oblivious to her anxiety, Ioan rolled off the bed and stood up to unfasten his trousers. He pushed his trousers and underwear down, but somehow managed to tangle his feet as he did so. He toppled backwards, knocking over a pile of books in the corner, flailing desperately as he fell. Unable to save himself, he sprawled on the carpet, half naked and thoroughly embarrassed.

Minerva couldn't help herself: she giggled. Whether it was the wine, the nervous tension or merely the sight of Ioan in an undignified heap on the floor with his trousers around his ankles, she didn't know. But laughter welled up inside her. She clapped a hand over her mouth in dismay but couldn't quite suppress it.

"Sorry!" she gasped. "Are you all right? I'm not laughing at you. Well, I mean I am but it's not… you know."

Ioan grinned sheepishly as he struggled to his feet. "Well, I expect you can tell I haven't done this sort of thing in quite a while."

"Neither have I," she said, feeling relieved. She'd been afraid he'd be hurt by her laughter but he seemed to be finding it just as amusing as she had.

"Really?" He divested himself of the last of his clothing and came to lie beside her on the bed. "And here I was thinking a woman like you would have a string of distinguished, handsome lovers."

"They were all busy tonight." She caressed his cheek affectionately. "But none of them ever took me to Frenchman's Creek."

The candlelight cast his lean form in a beguiling mix of shadows and light, planes and curves. In the quiet solitude of her bed she'd tried to picture what he might look like in a moment like this, what he might say, how he would touch her. Now it was finally happening.

"I've wanted to do this for ages," Ioan admitted, almost as if he'd read her mind. He shifted closer and rested one hand on her waist, his fingers teasing gently at her skin. "Wanted to feel you, to touch you… like this… but I never thought… I never dreamed…"

Minerva looked into his familiar eyes and felt the last of the tension between them dissolve away. This was Ioan, a man she knew and trusted so much that she had risked her life for him without a moment's hesitation. Suddenly all her fears seemed foolish. It had been so long since she'd done this, since she'd let herself go like this. But never had she felt so aroused, so attracted to a man that he only had to look at her for her cheeks to flush and her skin to tingle. Most of her previous relationships had not lasted long, defeated by awkwardness and her own unwillingness to let anyone into her heart. But Ioan had bulldozed straight through her carefully constructed defences without even seeming to realise that they were there. And she wanted him so, so badly. Badly enough to forget any thought of restraint or dignity. There in the heat of the moment she was unashamedly and entirely his. She had never felt so powerless in her life, but there was no longer any fear. Only excitement.

"Be gentle with me," she whispered.

"Always."

And then he was reaching for her, and on top of her, possessing her with his mouth and hands until there was nothing left for her to do but surrender completely and let go.


	7. Chapter Six

Chapter 6

* * *

The early evening breeze rustled and whispered through the woodlands that stretched downhill from Ioan Chant's cottage. The sun had almost set; the nights were drawing in at an alarming pace now and winter would soon be upon them. Despite Ioan's arm around her shoulders and her thick muggle overcoat, Minerva shivered. The wide-reaching apparition wards he had set up around his new home were entirely sensible, she knew, but visiting him in bad weather was not going to be pleasant.

Nevertheless, no amount of bad weather would be keeping Minerva from his door.

Minerva allowed a smile to tease at her lips as she cast her mind back over the weekend just gone. After Friday night's unexpected discovery that Ioan found her just as attractive as she did him, they'd barely been able to keep their hands off one another. Minerva had been afraid that three years of celibacy might have left her somewhat rusty when it came to the physical side of love but to her surprise and delight not only had her body had responded ferociously to Ioan's touch but he also seemed to have experienced just as much pleasure from her own diligent if slightly inexpert ministrations. They had spent most of the weekend in bed exploring their newfound intimacy, physical and emotional, whilst the autumn storms had raged outside. On Sunday the weather had finally eased off and they'd made it down to the bay for a long walk across the sands, followed by lunch in the village pub. Back in the cosy warmth of his living room Ioan had decided it was high past time to introduce her to – as he put it – some decent music, and he'd put on an album by one of his favourite bands. They'd curled on the sofa together watching the last of the afternoon sun disappear, both sad to see the weekend draw to a close.

And now Ioan was – reluctantly – escorting her back down the lane so that she could return to Hogwarts in time for dinner. Minerva, for her part, was not particularly looking forward to going back, and not just because it would mean leaving Ioan behind. For so many years Hogwarts had been a home for her, a place of sanctuary and calm. But lately it was beginning to feel like a battleground. Dolores Umbridge was impossible to reason with and the Ministry seemed to have given her carte blanche to cause as much upset and controversy as possible. Lately Minerva had begun to dread the very sight of pink parchment. The weekend with Ioan had been a wonderful escape: an opportunity to put the stresses and strains of work behind her and instead devote her energies to something far more pleasurable. But now it was over.

"Come back any time," Ioan said as they reached the edge of the wards. "I mean it. Even if it's just for an hour or two."

She nodded and turned to kiss him goodbye.

* * *

A few minutes later she was hurrying up the driveway to Hogwarts in the gathering darkness. A quick glance at her watch told her she had just enough time to wash and change for dinner and she quickened her pace as she approached the front door.

Sure enough, she arrived in the Great Hall with only a few minutes to spare. Filius was in her usual seat next to the Headmaster, having quite reasonably assumed that Minerva would not be joining them. He rose quickly, apologising, but she waved him back down and instead took the empty chair to the other side of him, feeling a little relieved that Albus would now be unable to quiz her as to where she had been all weekend. She loved him dearly and had done for many years, ever since the evening he'd caught her crying in her classroom over the news that her beloved Dougal had proposed to the vain, simpering Eileen Gordon. Over the course of the conversation that followed he had abandoned his rather clumsy efforts to be a father figure to her and a deep friendship had formed between them instead. But Albus was also a nosy old bastard, particularly when it came to Minerva's love life. Though he'd probably already guessed there was more to her relationship with Ioan than met the eye, she didn't feel ready to confide the details in him just yet.

She ate slowly, distracted by thoughts of Ioan and all that had happened between them. He'd taken her totally by surprise on Friday but, now that she considered it, he must have put quite some effort in to planning it all: the invitation, the candles, the home cooked meal… it was quite possibly the most romantic thing anyone had ever done for her.

Filius glanced over at her and caught her smiling to herself.

"Good weekend, Minerva?"

"It was lovely, thank you. Any problems on Saturday?"

"Hogsmeade? No, not at all. Remarkably quiet, in fact."

"Good."

As soon as was polite, she excused herself from the company of her colleagues and made her way back upstairs to her suite, not even bothering to stop off in her office as she passed. Her desk was piled high with outstanding work after the unexpected weekend away but it would have to keep until tomorrow. Right now fatigue was catching up with her and she could barely keep her eyes open. She'd had little sleep the previous two nights. Admittedly she'd spent a fair amount of time - well, _otherwise_ _occupied_, so to speak. But once that was all over and Ioan was snoring softly beside her, sleep had eluded Minerva. She was used to having her large bed to herself and was a restless sleeper at the best of times, often tossing and turning from her back to her front to her side before finding a position in which she could comfortably stretch out her long limbs and drift off. With Ioan pressed up against the curve of her back, his arm tucked tightly around her, she'd been afraid to move too much in case she disturbed him. Cramped and uncomfortable, she'd spent both nights dozing fitfully but never falling properly asleep. Really she ought to have told him but the idea of spending the night in the loving embrace of this man she had desired for so long was one she was reluctant to cast aside so easily. Perhaps, she hoped, she would get used to it given time.

She undressed and washed as quickly as she could, pulled on a clean nightgown and checked her trusty tartan dressing gown was hanging in its usual spot on the back of the door in case of any nocturnal emergencies. Then she peeled back the crimson bedspread on her large four-poster and slid between the sheets, feeling a little guilty about the relief it brought her to be back in her own bed once more. She'd much rather have been with Ioan, of course. That went without saying. She stretched out her limbs then wriggled around until she was comfortable, one feather pillow cradling her head and another wedged under a splayed out arm. Bliss, she thought, and with that she was asleep.

* * *

Monday morning found Minerva feeling bright and cheerful once more, though the discovery of Educational Decree Number Twenty-Four pinned squarely in the centre of the staffroom noticeboard somewhat mitigated her good mood. It was, she thought, yet another example of how little understanding Dolores Umbridge had when it came to the students of Hogwarts. The many clubs and societies that existed within the castle kept them engaged and occupied during their free time and – more importantly – discouraged them from finding their own entertainment in pursuits of a less constructive nature. This meant that Minerva, along with the rest of the staff, spent considerably less of her own free time supervising detentions. Not any more, it seemed.

Down in the Great Hall, the school was abuzz with the news. Minerva frowned at the sight of a knot of students crowding around the Gryffindor table. As usual Potter was at the centre of the disturbance. What had he done now? Filius had assured her that all had been quiet on the Hogsmeade visit. But just as she was debating whether or not to intervene it struck her that Dolores' decree hadn't just been about clubs and societies. It had also mentioned teams. Quidditch teams, Minerva realised with a horrible sense of foreboding. Of course. No wonder Potter and his friends were upset. But Dolores would have to lift the ban, surely? The dreadful woman couldn't cancel Quidditch… could she?

Minerva was so distracted that she didn't see the post owl swooping towards her until it dropped her delivery neatly onto her still-empty plate, startling her out of her reverie. Instead of an envelope or parcel, a single long-stemmed red rose lay in front of her, its soft velvety petals perfectly arranged. There was no note, of course. Minerva glanced up anxiously, hoping the gift had gone unnoticed. She guarded her privacy intently, having absolutely no desire to be the subject of idle gossip amongst her charges. A few of the senior Gryffindor students peered curiously in her direction but most were busy eating, preoccupied with their own mail or talking in hushed tones whilst casting the occasional resentful glance at Dolores Umbridge.

Unfortunately the same could not be said for her colleagues. Conversations tailed off on either side of her as curious eyes turned to look and mouths opened ready to speculate as to what the Deputy Headmistress might have done to deserve such a token. She swept them all with the iciest stare she could manage and was gratified to see Filius taking a sudden intense interest in his porridge, while Dumbledore resumed telling Severus Snape about his summer holiday in Denmark slightly more loudly than before. Even Hagrid took the hint and said nothing. Further along the table, however, Pomona Sprout was grinning from ear to ear with triumph and Minerva knew she would be along to interrogate her before the day was out. Swiftly she pulled the rose off the table and onto her lap, before fixing Pomona with a defiant glare which, unsurprisingly, had no effect whatsoever.

Once she had escaped upstairs to the privacy of her office she stared at the rose for a moment, before conjuring a vase of water to put it in and standing it on her desk. It had been a long time since any man had sent her flowers, mostly because she had always made it clear that she considered such material tokens of affection to be entirely pointless. Despite this, however, she was rather touched by Ioan's gesture, not least because laying hands on an owl and a red rose in a remote muggle village so early in the morning must have taken some doing. It was ridiculous, of course, and unnecessary, but the fact that he felt the change in the relationship between them deserved some form of acknowledgement was more reassuring than she cared to admit. She only hoped he hadn't taken any silly risks in the process.

It all felt decidedly different from the relationships she'd been in before, and not just because the object of her affections happened to be wanted by the Ministry for murder. Oh, there had been the usual awkwardness, the anxiety over saying or doing the wrong thing, the endless wondering as to what might happen next. But alongside all that Minerva had found herself experiencing something she never had before: an instinctive feeling that this was exactly the right thing to do. It was as if some part of her had known him forever, had kissed him a thousand times before.

Minerva prided herself on being sensible, practical and unsentimental. So why, when Ioan Chant embraced her, did she feel like she'd finally come home?

She shook herself. It wouldn't do to daydream when there were classes to teach. Swiftly she gathered her belongings and set off down the corridor to her classroom.

* * *

By the evening Minerva was feeling just as exhausted as she had the night before. She had been most troubled to learn of the injury to Potter's owl, implying as it did that the High Inquisitor was willing to sink to even deeper levels than previously realised, and she'd jotted a quick note to Albus so that he could alert the Order of the situation. Then she'd arranged for the house elves to bring a light lunch up to her office, where it had taken her the full lunch hour to deal with the mountain of correspondence that had accumulated during her absence. Once her afternoon lessons were over she'd returned to her office and begun ploughing through her marking, starting with the efforts of the seventh year NEWT class and working her way backwards from there. Halfway through a sheaf of fourth year essays on Switching Spells she'd dashed down to the Great Hall for dinner, eating as quickly as she could before heading straight back upstairs again.

She'd managed to successfully avoid Pomona all day but she knew her friend wouldn't be so easily deterred. Sure enough, no sooner had she settled herself behind her desk than the door of her office burst open once more and Pomona came bustling in, a bottle of what would undoubtedly turn out to be some sort of toxic homebrew in one hand.

"You can run but you can't hide, my dear!" she announced theatrically.

With a sigh Minerva set the remainder of the fourth year essays aside once more. "Could you at least close the door?"

Pomona obeyed, then deposited herself into the chair opposite Minerva, conjured up two tumblers and poured a generous measure of clear liquid into each one.

"Come on," she demanded, pushing one of the glasses towards Minerva. "Spill the beans!"

"I don't know what you mean," Minerva protested weakly, though she knew it was pointless to resist. The only way she would get her friend out of her office before midnight would be to satisfy her thirst for salacious gossip.

"You rush out of here on Friday night dressed up to the nines, don't come home for two days and then reappear with a great big smile on your face and get red roses delivered to you at breakfast."

"It was only one rose," Minerva said. "And shouldn't we be discussing Umbridge's latest diktat?"

"Pffft. That can wait. This is much more important."

Minerva took a sip of her drink. A moment later she was coughing and spluttering, eyes streaming.

"Pomona!" she managed eventually. "What on earth is this stuff?"

"Puffapod juice liqueur. It's a new recipe. Add a bit of gillywater if you want, takes the edge off it. What's his name? How did you meet him? When are you seeing him again?"

"Pomona, you know I don't like talking about this sort of thing. Besides, I doubt it will come to anything. It's just a silly fling. That's all." She wasn't quite sure who she was trying to convince: herself or her friend. After all, if she kept her expectations low then she couldn't be disappointed.

"There is about as much chance of you having "a silly fling" as there is of dear Dolores giving us all a pay rise and buggering off back to the Ministry. You can't fool me, my dear."

"All right," Minerva said. "But it's complicated. I've known him for rather a while as a friend but this is all new. It's too early to say if it will work out, which is why I don't want to talk about it."

"Ah. I take it your new dress had, shall we say, the desired effect?"

Minerva gave in. "Yes," she admitted, blushing furiously.

"And are we talking acceptable? Or were expectations exceeded?" Pomona rested her elbows on the desk and leaned forward eagerly.

"Expectations were very much exceeded," Minerva confessed, unable to prevent a slow smile from spreading across her face as she recalled once more the events of the weekend. She'd lost her virginity to Dougal McGregor, awkward fumbling in the back of his father's car, too afraid of getting caught to actually enjoy it. A few brief relationships had followed but none of them had lasted. The sex had been unsatisfying and uncomfortable, and Minerva had been left wondering just what on earth all the fuss was about.

She'd assumed that Ioan, a man incapable of hearing a knock at the door when he was absorbed in his research, who rarely bothered to make the bed and who frequently risked tripping and breaking his neck on the piles of books he left stacked on the staircase… well, she'd just thought he'd have the same vaguely distracted air when it came to the bedroom. How wrong she'd been. Ioan approached sex with the same intensity that he had when it came to complex enchantments. He'd worked his way systematically across her body, carefully noting her responses, teasing and testing until he found out exactly how to drive her wild, whether it was whispering something filthy in her ear as he drove her over the edge or pleasuring her slowly and tantalisingly with his mouth and hands until she was begging for release. She in turn had found herself growing in confidence, able to tell him what she wanted and express her pleasure freely and unselfconsciously, feeling the passion that had been missing from her previous encounters. It had been a revelation. Finally Minerva had understood.

Pomona was beaming at her. "Well good on you, girl. It's about time someone gave you a decent seeing to."

Minerva gathered herself. "That's all you're getting for now," she insisted firmly. "Now shoo! I've got far too much work to do before I can sit around gossiping!"

"Only because you spent all weekend shagging!" And with one last gleeful cackle Pomona was gone.

* * *

Tuesday morning brought an irate Gryffindor Quidditch Captain to Minerva's office door bearing the news that Dolores Umbridge had declined to give the team permission to reform. Minerva listened to Angelina Johnson's tirade as calmly as she could, though inside she was fuming. At lunchtime she went straight up to Dumbledore's office, almost spitting the password at the stone gargoyle in her rage.

Dumbledore was sitting behind his desk looking as calm as ever, apparently oblivious to the turmoil of the castle below.

"Ah, Professor McGonagall. How are you, my dear? Do sit down."

Reluctantly she took a seat. She'd have been happier pacing the length of his office but she knew he disliked seeing her upset. Instead she tried to keep her voice as steady as possible. "Miss Johnson informs me that Dolores Umbridge has declined to give the Gryffindor Quidditch team permission to play."

"Ah. That is most unfortunate."

"It is grossly unfair! I note from Severus that no such restriction has been placed on the Slytherin team despite a less than exemplary pitch record over the past few years. Besides, you know how much Potter is suffering right now. Surely we shouldn't be denying the boy one of the few pleasures he has left?"

"I will have a gentle word with Dolores."

"I'm not sure a gentle word is-"

Albus held up a hand, stopping her before she could say anything more controversial. "You may leave the matter with me," he said firmly. "And then we can perhaps move on to more pressing issues?"

"Such as..?"

"Such as the identity of the gentleman brave enough to send you roses?" He said this with a straight face but there was an unmistakeable gleam of amusement in his eye.

"Albus, you know I don't like talking about this kind of thing."

"Forgive me," he said, entirely unapologetic. "I am a nosy old man."

"Ioan and I…" she began stiffly. "We… that is to say…" Minerva's cheeks flamed as she struggled to find a polite way of explaining to the Headmaster that she and Ioan Chant had spent the weekend taking inter-house relationships to a whole new level. Thankfully her stricken expression was enough to give the game away. Albus took pity on her and waved her into silence.

"I understand. I had hoped… but no, it is none of my business."

She frowned. "I assure you I will not allow this to interfere in any way with my duties here."

"I don't doubt that for a moment, my dear," he said with a wry smile. "That is not the reason for my concern."

"Then may I ask what is?"

"I am still troubled by the Angus Murphy affair. It would not have been considered unreasonable for Ioan to have used lethal defence if he thought your life was in danger-"

"But he didn't. He _didn't_, Albus."

"But what is the alternative hypothesis? That one Death Eater would slay another and let the pair of you escape unharmed, even though the fortuitous murder of a member of the Order of the Phoenix and the capture of an eminent researcher would have brought him or her great favour in the eyes of Voldemort?"

"Hardly unharmed," she muttered, remembering the excruciating pain she'd been in that night. "But what if the Death Eater in question was also a member of the Order? Have you considered that? You said you had a warning…"

He held up a hand. "Severus Snape was not in Tinworth that night, Minerva, of that I am certain. I don't deny that he warned me. But Severus had plans elsewhere."

"But…"

"Just be careful, my dear," he said gently. "That's all I ask. Keep an open mind. Don't let love blind you to the possibility that Ioan Chant might not be entirely the man you think he is."

* * *

Dumbledore's warning troubled Minerva more than she cared to admit. At lunchtime she was distracted and ate little as she turned his words over and over in her mind. What if Ioan had killed Murphy? Perhaps he had denied it out of fear as to how she would react, rather than any more sinister motive. It didn't seem to make sense though, knowing him as she did. But then… how well _did_ she know him? Two years of letters and a few months of courting wasn't much, after all.

She continued to mull it over as she headed into her afternoon lessons, though her musings were swiftly cut short when one of her fifth year Hufflepuff students managed to accidentally turn his mouse into a large and very agile monkey that seized both his wand and his quill before hightailing up into the rafters. By the time she'd sorted out the resulting chaos and delivered a stern if slightly hypocritical lecture on the perils of not concentrating in class it was almost time for the bell.

Her joint Gryffindor and Slytherin first year class followed and here she had no time for speculation: the first years, many of whom were still only just getting to grips with controlling their magic, required much closer supervision and a great deal more help. It didn't help that they were still very much in awe of their strict teacher and, for half of them, Head of House and were thus rather nervous. Much of the lesson was spent moving from desk to desk: demonstrating wand movements, correcting spell pronunciations and occasionally reversing erroneous work. But teaching had always come naturally to Minerva and watching these students grow in confidence and ability as the year went on would bring her both pride and pleasure, though she rarely let it show.

By the time the final bell of the afternoon rang she was feeling much happier, her confidence restored. Albus had only met Ioan Chant a handful of times at Order meetings so he was hardly in any position to judge. But Ioan was the most honest and open man she'd ever known. He wouldn't have been capable of hiding any sort of dark agenda even if he'd wanted to. He'd opened his home and his heart to her and she trusted him completely. And that was all there was to it.

She marched into her office and nearly dropped the armful of parchment she was holding in shock at the sight of an unexpected visitor lounging in an armchair by the fireplace.

"Remus!" she spluttered. "Goodness, you made me jump! You could have warned me you were coming."

Remus Lupin got slowly to his feet. His movements were rather stiff and with a jolt she realised it was only a day or two past the full moon.

"My apologies," he said, stepping towards her and kissing her cheek politely. "I was afraid that if a message got intercepted and the High Inquisitor knew you were harbouring a… what was it? Ah, yes… _dangerous half breed_… in your office then it might make things difficult for you. I didn't want to risk walking through the castle so I came by floo when I knew she would be teaching."

Minerva deposited the scrolls of parchment on her desk.

"Tea? Or something stronger?"

"Tea would be lovely."

She conjured two cups and then lifted down the teapot that sat on a nearby shelf and tapped it twice with her wand. "Remus," she said aloud and filled his cup, and then, "Mine." The pot supplied delicately fragranced peppermint tea for Minerva and a thick half-stewed builder's brew with milk and three sugars for her guest.

"Your tastes haven't changed, I see," she said wryly, handing him his cup and taking the armchair opposite. "So what can I do for you?"

"I need to talk to you about Harry."

"Oh dear."

There was an Order meeting planned for Thursday evening. The fact that Remus had made a special trip to visit her rather than waiting until then did not bode well. Sure enough, as Remus explained about the meeting in the Hog's Head her heart sank. Apparently Potter still hadn't heeded her warnings, though at least he seemed to be aiming for a touch more discretion this time. Still, she thought, at least he was doing something constructive now.

"You can't deny it's a very Gryffindor thing to do," Remus pointed out.

Minerva sniffed. "True, though sometimes I wish it wasn't. But trust me, if Dolores Umbridge catches so much as a whiff of this… well, he'll be facing expulsion at the very least."

"If it makes you feel better, I think the true brain behind the operation is that of Hermione Granger."

"That doesn't surprise me. She's already been to see me twice to complain about how inadequate the new Defence curriculum is, though of course there was nothing I could do about it."

"Anyway, I thought you might appreciate an advance warning. I get the impression that Sirius is rather fanning the flames, shall we say? At least this way you can keep an eye on things this end."

She sighed.

"Thank you. I shall do my best."

* * *

That night she found herself missing Ioan acutely. She'd never felt lonely at Hogwarts before but all of a sudden the bed she'd been so relieved to be back in two nights before seemed suddenly empty without him beside her. It wasn't just that her body ached furiously to be touched and kissed and stroked into a state of wild abandon again, though that in itself was bad enough. But she also missed _him_: missed his easy smile, the way his brow furrowed when he was concentrating on his work – or on her, as it turned out – and the cosy warmth of the cottage, the home that he had created there for himself and into which he'd welcomed her so joyfully. It was far too risky for him to visit her at the castle so they'd agreed that, for the time being at least, she would come to him, and then only on the weekends since she didn't wish to be seen skipping in and out of the castle like an errant teenager in the first flush of love. Still, as she'd climbed the stairs back to her rooms she'd briefly entertained the fantasy that he'd be there waiting for her, ridiculous though it was. The weekend was beginning to feel like nothing more than a dream. She wondered if Ioan was missing her too.

* * *

By the following evening the last of Minerva's resolve had drained away. After wrestling with herself all the way through dinner she finally gave in, collected her travelling cloak and bag from her office and swept off down the driveway, trying for all the world to appear as if she was merely out for an evening stroll and not sneaking off for a late night tryst with her secret lover; as if her cheeks were flushed with cold and not anticipation.

The cottage stood exactly as she'd left it, perched on the clifftop under an icy moonlit sky. The lights were on downstairs; hopefully that meant he was home… and perhaps even missing her too. She marched swiftly up to the front door. The air seemed to shimmer slightly on either side of her as she stepped through the protective enchantments and knocked twice on the glass pane. For a moment she remembered a different door and a different night and shivered at the thought of how close they'd come. She didn't have time to dwell on it, though, as the door opened and Ioan stood on the threshold, staring at her with a mix of surprise and delight.

"Minerva!"

Minerva felt her insides clench thrillingly at the sight of him and immediately knew she'd done the right thing.

"I'm sorry," she said aloud. "I should have sent you a message, I know, but I missed you and I-"

He cut her off with a warm embrace. She'd forgotten how good it felt to be in his arms but the scent of him made her memories suddenly much more vivid.

"I missed you too. Come in, quick. It's freezing."

She shrugged out of her travelling cloak and hung in up by the door, and followed him through into his living room where a welcoming fire blazed in the hearth. She could judge exactly where he had been sitting by the maelstrom of papers, books and parchment that covered just about every available flat surface within arms reach. Hastily he gathered up as much of the mess as he could, piling it all in haphazard stacks on the coffee table until the sofa was clear. Not for the first time, Minerva wondered how on earth he could work in such chaos.

"Sorry it's a bit untidy. Have a seat. Wine?"

"Not on a school night, thank you."

He shrugged and went to the kitchen, returning a moment later with a glass of clear amber scotch for himself. He gestured at the sofa and she sank down next to him.

"I don't mean to sound ungrateful," she began, "but _please_ don't send me flowers in front of the whole school again. It only makes people gossip about me and I really don't like that."

"I'm sorry," he said. "You're right. I didn't think."

"I was hoping we could perhaps not tell the Order, either. Albus knows but I'd rather keep it that, if you don't mind. Just for now at least."

He nodded. "Absolutely. Whatever makes you happy."

She felt a twinge of guilt at his obvious discomfort. "It _was_ a beautiful rose," she said. "It's in a vase on my desk. I was very touched. It was lovely to know that you were thinking of me."

"All I've done since you left is think about you," Ioan said. "I can't tell you how glad I am to see you now. You look tired, though. I take it that Umbridge woman is still making things difficult."

Minerva grimaced and nodded.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

She hesitated. "Not really," she admitted. "I'd rather not think about it at all. Actually, do you mind… could I have one of those, please?"

"Of course." He summoned the whisky and another glass from the kitchen, poured her a finger and then searched around for somewhere to put the bottle. In the process he managed to send an accidental avalanche of paperwork cascading from a side table; fortuitously this resulted in a clear space on the table. He set the bottle down and turned back to her before he upset things any further.

"Cheers."

He clinked his glass against hers and she took a long sip, savouring the fiery heat of it as she swallowed. Just one, she thought guiltily. It was good, very good in fact, but what she really wanted was him. Tired of waiting, she set the glass aside and reached for him with both hands so that she could kiss him properly.

"I think this is the first time I've seen you in your work robes," Ioan said thoughtfully when they finally broke apart. He ran one hand over the heavy emerald green velvet that draped her shoulders.

"I'm sorry. I was in such a rush to see you I didn't bother to change."

"Oh, don't apologise. I'm actually rather aroused by the idea of undressing a teacher." Ioan got to his feet. "In fact, would you care to accompany me upstairs, Professor McGonagall? I've got some… wandwork I'd like to show you." He noticed her blushing and grinned. "You can always put me in detention if you don't approve."

Minerva peered doubtfully over her spectacles at him; too late she realised she was giving him exactly what he wanted.

"Ioan-"

"Indulge me for a moment," he murmured, "and I promise I'll make you forget all about work."

Her initial misgivings were soon proved to be entirely unfounded. Once they were in his bedroom, Ioan lifted her spectacles from her nose, teased the pins out of her hair one by one and proceeded to slowly, sensually undress her, refusing all attempts on her part to assist with the process. First the heavy winter robes were unclasped and slid from her shoulders, then he was carefully unbuttoning her blouse and tracing his fingers over the bare skin beneath, following them with soft, teasing kisses. With every article of clothing he removed she felt the weight of her worries slowly lift and her mind grow clearer. By the time he had peeled off her stockings she was every bit as aroused as he was and all thoughts of Dolores Umbridge were – thankfully - long gone.

* * *

"How was it for you?"

"Fifty points to Ravenclaw, Mr Chant. And detention… with me, all night."

* * *

Despite – or perhaps because of – her determination to get a good night's sleep, Minerva spent another restless night. Ioan didn't stir at all as she slid out of his bed and retrieved her clothing from his bedroom floor. She still felt a little awkward about waking in someone else's house and she washed and dressed quickly, lingering only for a moment to gaze with affection at her sleeping lover before slipping away downstairs and out into the crisp October morning, not even daring to make herself a cup of tea. A fresh breeze blew in from the coast, bringing with it the plaintive cries of seagulls. Minerva had always loved the sea, reminding her as it did of her childhood in Caithness and the father she had adored. Her life at home at not always been easy and, when her mother didn't need her, she would often slip away from the house and off down the familiar paths that led her eventually up to the lighthouse at Duncansby Head, from where she could gaze out across the Pentland Firth, watching out to sea for dolphins and whales in the summer and, through the autumn months, peering down over the cliff edge to look for the fluffy white coats of the newborn seal pups. When the fog rolled in from the icy North Sea it would often reach all the way inland to the village, shrouding the familiar landscape and bringing an aura of magic and mystery with it.

Ioan's new home lay on the north Pembrokeshire coast. Though it was but a pale shadow of the soaring majesty of the Highlands, it was nevertheless beautiful in its own way: a gentler, smaller, friendlier version of home. Rolling hills of green replaced bleak moorland. But the smell of salt in the air did not change and Minerva felt strangely wistful as she strode off down the lane.

* * *

Back in her office she hung up her travelling cloak wearily and was about to head upstairs when out of the corner of her eye she registered the pile of parchment rolls sitting on the desk: first year homework essays that she'd forgotten about in her rush to see Ioan. It wasn't a disaster by any stretch; they could wait another day or two for their marks. But it bothered Minerva immensely. She couldn't remember the last time she'd missed work like that. And now she was tired again, and with a full day of lessons to teach. Was this how life was when you were in a relationship? Maybe she had just been spoilt by only having herself to worry about for all these years. Some of her colleagues had children as well as partners and they seemed to manage perfectly well.

She glanced at her watch. If she skipped breakfast she could get the essays marked in time to hand back later. She'd feel better then.

She settled herself in her chair, pulled the first of the essays towards her and reached for her quill. If this was how things were going to be from now on then so be it. She would cope, she told herself firmly. She _would_.

She had to.


End file.
